Artist
by Loki Nishizaki
Summary: What if Ranma had acted a little faster? Akane has always claimed to be a martial artist, but what if she actually loved martial arts? A story about respect. [You always admire what you really don't understand.]Blaise Pascal. AkaneRanma Friendship.
1. Divergence

What if Ranma had acted a little faster?  
Akane has always claimed to be a martial artist, but what if she actually loved martial arts?

* * *

"Your problem isn't so terrible after all!" exclaimed Mr. Tendo. 

Ranma-chan stared at her father's friend incredulously. _Not so terrible? Poor man… he's lost his mind. _

"My daughter Kasumi. Nineteen. And Nabiki. Seventeen. And Akane. Sixteen." Three daughters, all of them beautiful. Judging by their stances and clothing, Kasumi was the most traditional and practically the opposite of the more modern Nabiki. Akane, the youngest, seemed to have taken up martial arts in her spare time. Of course, none of their characteristics mattered any because he wasn't about to choose any of them. _Stupid old man, he knows we have better things to do than waste time playing matchmaker with girls, _thought Ranma distastefully.

"Pick the one you want, she's your fiancée," Mr. Tendo ordered.

_Ha! As if. _

Ranma was about to inform the old man of his incredible delusion when he was interrupted by the very daughters he allegedly had to choose from.

"Oh, he wants Akane!" The oldest remarked brilliantly.

"Eh?" The youngest daughter turned to her sister in surprise. Obviously, she hadn't been consulted when the decision was made.

"Oh, definitely!" The second Tendo child quickly threw her lot in with her elder sister. A united front would serve them well.

Akane looked between the two traitors with rapidly mounting fury. "You must be joking! Why would I be—"

_Joking… Is that what I am? A joke?_

"Well… you hate boys, don't you?" Nabiki interjected her younger sister's argument with a rhetorical question.

Kasumi jumped right in and completed the double-pronged attack. "So you're in luck! He's half-girl!" She explained cheerfully, uncaring of his feelings.

Now thoroughly insulted, Ranma decided that he wasn't about to waste another second of his time away from China. He never should have left it in the first place. Even the amazon Shampoo was better than this.

"Me? Marry that—" Akane continued the argument, but he wasn't listening anymore.

"Where are you going, boy?" Genma asked threateningly. His son wasn't even remotely impressed, but his query served to draw the attention of the Tendo family to his impending departure. The daughters ceased their squabbling and observed their interaction in silence.

The redheaded beauty turned and glared at his old man. "Back to China!"

The elder Saotome jumped from his seat and towered over him, posturing like a threatened beast. "Hold it right there! You're not going anywhere," he warned.

His son stood unimpressed, long used to such displays from his sole companion. "And who's going to stop me, you?" Ranma-chan asked derisively. The redhead shook her head. "You can't keep me here against my will old man. Even if you could beat me consistently enough, you can't keep an eye on me twenty-four hours a day." The cursed martial artist moved towards the kettle and used the previously scalding water to activate his curse. "I'm going back to China, even if you're not coming with me," his newly masculine voice informed unshakably.

The bald, scruffy and bespectacled martial artist observed his heir for untold moments in the silence between measures. He watched unwaveringly for so long that his son became uncomfortable in his presence for the first time in recent memory. Finally, Genma nodded respectfully to the man he had trained, the peer he had crafted. "Alright son, let's make a deal. We'll settle this the old-fashioned way, with a martial arts contest, interested?" he asked.

Ranma, already unsettled by his father's odd behavior, eyed him warily and proceeded with caution instead of the carelessness that normally characterized him. "What do you have in mind?" he replied.

"You want to go back to China to find a cure for your curse… you still don't understand why we left. That place is dangerous boy. If you want to leave you'll have to prove to me that your mastery of the art is enough to let you survive over there," the teacher decided.

The student narrowed his eyes. "What are you up to? I can beat you three times out of four and you know it," he said. Surprisingly, not only was his statement delivered without arrogance, his father didn't appear to disagree with it.

The wily man smiled and continued on. "We'll see. Show me if you defeat your old man in a constricted space."

Ranma felt his eyes widen. "Here?" he asked, nonplussed at his father's choice.

The man nodded. "Yes. A martial arts contest limited to these walls. You lose automatically if you damage anything or exit the room, willingly or otherwise. Agreed?"

The boy watched his father carefully and quickly realized the man was serious. "What do I get if I win?"

"If you win, I'll allow you to go back to China. In fact, I'll even go with you, to make sure everything turns out alright. But if you lose, you have to promise not to leave without my permission," Genma explained.

Ranma took his eyes off his opponent and quickly noted the number of obstacles he would have to take into account, including the Tendo family.

_The walls are thin… I'll have to be careful with them. The ceiling is low, but sturdy and other than the table, there really isn't anything else in the way. Doable._

The martial artist turned to his old man, smirked and subtly shifted his weight. It was with some surprise that he noted Mr. Tendo's comprehension of his stance. Evidently, the man was a rather skilled martial artist. For a second, he wondered why the man hadn't taught Akane. There was no way he was unaware of his daughter's faults in the art. He wondered. Just for a second. "Alright, let's do this."

* * *

It was kind of surreal, the way it began. What would prove to be the single greatest, most elegant display of physical prowess, mental sharpness, concentration and control, the culmination of a decade's worth of spilt blood, heated sweat and Spartan lifestyles, the foundation of the most beautifully meaningful display of martial arts she would ever see began as she and her sisters carelessly judged the worth of an unfortunate son. A son who had traveled further along his chosen path in 16 years than they were likely to in their entirely lives. Nabiki would have to own a large fraction of Japan in order to equal his accomplishments. 

Eventually, it would occur to her that Ranma Saotome either had to be a monster or a god to be that skilled at that age. Either way, the source of his talent couldn't be anything natural. Genma certainly had little to do with it. The man may have been an extremely skilled martial artist, but he couldn't teach to save his life.

Though they had heard the Saotomes' exchange and agreement, the Tendo daughters still failed to grasp the meaning behind their father's urgent request for them to join him at the table. It was only after they obeyed his will that they realized that their well-being wasn't the reason. His faint grin belied his anticipation.

They hadn't seen Soun get this excited for a long time. It was as if their father returned to the larger-than-life man he had been in their youth. The two eldest continued to gawk liberally at their parent, but Akane turned to watch her father's guests.

They were standing just a few feet beside the table, clearly in each other's range. Genma was in a simple but perfectly executed martial arts stance and his son stood in a manner that was deceptively dismissive.

Akane only had a moment to evaluate their position before Ranma's leg ghosted out of perception and reappeared inside his opponent's guard. Though she had little time to think about it, her experience with the art determined that there was no way anyone could react to a blow with that kind of velocity. It was akin to dodging a bullet from a dozen feet away.

Soun's precious baby girl was fundamentally shocked when the balding man stepped outside of his son's range and skillfully grabbed the attacking leg before using it to throw the pigtailed youth towards the thin wall head first.

Those same foundations were completely razed when Ranma demonstrated greater control over his body in midair than she did on the ground. The boy quickly drew his knees to his chest so that the momentum of the movement carried his body into a rotation until his chest faced the floor. As he got closer to the wall, he extended his legs fully and gracefully bent his knees when his feet made contact with the wall. Against all of her logic, the boy managed to completely absorb his momentum and land on the floor without scratching the wall.

Soun's children could only gape in awe as Ranma closed the distance attacked with far greater caution than before. He threw a series of lightning fast jabs that drilled through Genma's guard but did little damage, dodged the counter and pursued his offense. For the next few minutes, the males of the Saotome clan fought each other under the vigilant and ignorant eyes of the female members of the Tendo clan.

Then, just as Ranma began pressing his advantage, Akane had an epiphany. As her mind was slowly accustomed to the high speeds, she finally unraveled the mystery behind Ranma Saotome. In his movements, she could read his heart. The battle was a skirmish of flesh to flesh impacts, invisible strikes and cunning strategies. She could not follow his limbs like her father could, so she watched the bigger picture. It was a long-awaited release for a long period of pain and frustration but contrary to her expectations, the sight wasn't brutal and the attacks weren't vindictive. There was no revulsion, only focus.

Ranma may have been angry, but he did not hate his father. That was clear as day in every move he made, even to her. Instead of being marked by vengeance, the fight was a venture for independence, a cry for adulthood, a revolution.

It was art. Ranma's body was his instrument and his heart was his opus. He fought for freedom. He fought for respect. He fought out of love for the only family he ever knew.

All of a sudden, she could see the endgame in whatever glimpses of their eyes she could catch, the certainty of the son and the acceptance and pride of the father. In a flurry of movement and damage it was over.

The young man jumped over the attacking leg, flipped in midair, pushed off the ceiling and planted his knee through his father's block and directly into his chest. The blow was strong enough to temporarily throw Genma off balance and slow his movements and reactions.

Ranma capitalized instantly.

He grabbed the bald man by his tattered gi and swung him in a full circle, picking up momentum before slamming him onto, and through the table. The wooden piece of furniture crumbled with a thunderous crash, scattering small scraps of wood onto the surroundings and leaving the room in profound silence.

The champion stood beside the defeated solemnly for this victory marked a new chapter in his life. He raised his head towards the ceiling, sighed in relief and smiled out of satisfaction. He turned away from his unconscious companion and walked towards his prize.

"Where are you going?" asked Mr. Tendo.

Ranma stopped and stared at his father's friend over his shoulder. The young man clearly wondered if he should answer such an obvious question. "China. The old man'll catch up," he finally answered.

Soun nodded and continued. "Yes, I believe those were the terms agreed upon in case of your victory, but you did not win," he remarked.

The cursed teen fully turned to face his newest obstacle. "What are you talking about? I won fair and square!" he exclaimed.

"Did you now?" Soun asked rhetorically. Akane chillingly noted that her father suddenly sounded a lot like Nabiki. "You were to defeat Genma without damaging the room or leaving it. You destroyed the table."

"What! No I didn't, he did!" Ranma said while pointing towards the clear sign of his victory. Everyone could see that he was getting increasingly aggravated, but their father showed no fear even though the young man was almost certainly his superior in the art.

"Did he?" Soun responded. "Genma must have taught you about personal responsibility. My old friend had no part in the destruction of the furniture. Since he could not move, he only served as a tool and tools cannot be held accountable for anything. Don't you agree young man?" Mr. Tendo asked, knowing that the boy would not respond.

"You… you…" Ranma began to shake in silent fury. Mr. Tendo met his eyes easily.

"The truth is that you failed the exercise Ranma. Your skill in the art is commendable, but you still lack maturity. You lost, accept it," the master of the house ordered.

Eyes like blue sapphires burned before they darkened into frost. Tensed muscles relaxed on command until no trace of anger remained. The young man turned and walked away.

"And where are you going now?" Soun asked.

Ranma waved his hand nonchalantly. "To take a bath," he said offhandedly.

* * *

This is a preliminary version, which means that there's a chance I'll come back and modify this text. Probably not anytime soon. Oh yeah, I don't own Ranma.  



	2. Consequences

The Tendo family's eyes were firmly attached to Ranma's back as he deliberately left the room, searching his forced calm for hints of faults and fractures. His galvanizing performance had captivated his audience so that his presence ensnared their attention. They were unashamedly ascertaining his every move, observing him to the point of rudeness, as if he was a spectacle.

In his place, Akane would've been infuriated, insecure or intimidated. Though she knew he was aware of their scrutiny, Ranma disregarded all of it and walked away unblemished. It was only when he left her line of sight that she was struck by his sense of self-worth, his pride. Ranma Saotome had judged himself fairly and was satisfied by his findings. If he were to meet himself, the two identical Saotomes would become the best of friends. The only Tendo who could do the same was Kasumi.

Soun Tendo took the teakettle and an empty cup off of his friend's body and made himself some lukewarm tea. He took a long sip and looked at the large man in the tattered clothing lying in the remains of his kitchen table. He chucked lightly and spoke without concealing his amusement. "You know, if I hadn't cushioned that blow, you would probably be unconscious right now," he remarked.

Genma opened his eyes and began trying to sit himself up. Seeing his old training partner's trouble, Soun set his teacup down and helped his cursed friend sit next to him, after which he grabbed his cup again and finished drinking quickly. He put the empty cup aside and reflected on recent events with a smile on his face.

"He is even greater than I had dared to imagine," he revealed. "His understanding of the art is phenomenal, you truly have taught him well old friend," Mr. Tendo praised.

Genma Saotome shook his head in a rare display of modesty. "It wasn't that hard. The boy mostly taught himself," he explained with pride and a little pain in his voice.

Nabiki was the first daughter to recover enough of her wits to ask a question. "Daddy, what's going on? What was that?" she asked urgently.

Akane could understand her bewilderment. Her sister had always liked to keep a measure of control, especially of her immediate surroundings. To acquire that control, she used knowledge. When the Saotomes had been introduced as martial artists, she had assumed that she knew what that meant. After all, she was the daughter of a martial arts master and Daddy-dearest had made sure his precious daughters all knew at least some rudimentary knowledge of the art so that they could protect themselves from untrained brutes.

No part of her knowledge of the art could have prepared her for the Saotome clan's ability. One may have been necessary to understand the other, but that did not mean the other could be understood by using the one alone. It was like trying to understand quantum mechanics using knowledge of arithmetic.

"That, Nabiki, was a world class martial artist fighting another world class martial artist in a battle for dominance," their father explained. He turned to face each of them in turn. "Treasure the memory girls, because you will never see anything quite like it again."

Now that the subject was back onto the fight, there was something Akane wanted to know and couldn't stop herself from asking about. "Why did you lie? He beat Mr. Saotome fair and square, so why did you tell him that he lost?"

It tormented her because she couldn't understand her father's decision. Ranma was her superior in the art and after his display she couldn't help but accept that fact. He had defeated his father with greater skill and power than she had ever seen. His opponent lay defeated at his feet, how could have possibly lost the challenge? It made no sense to her.

She must have spoken with a touch more vehemence than she had wanted, because her father immediately tore up and stared at her in terror.

"Akane-chan…"

The daughter grimaced slightly. Soun was of no use when he was like this. Fortunately, she wouldn't have to waste any time comforting him before she could get an answer.

Mr. Saotome nodded. "You're right. The boy did beat me, but that doesn't mean he won the challenge. If he had been challenging me for mastership of the Saotome school of Anything Goes, I would have failed him for that," Genma said seriously.

That didn't make it any clearer. "But what did he do wrong?" she asked in frustration.

"The most important aspect of martial arts is control. An artist must always use the least amount of force necessary to accomplish a goal. Ranma could have simply thrown me out of the room to win the challenge but instead he decided to break the dinner table. That's a large mark against him," the Saotome elder preached strictly.

The three daughters stared at him unimpressed. The story rang true but didn't match their father's explanation. Nabiki's gaze was particularly heavy as she shook her head. "Liar, you just didn't want him to go to China," she said.

Genma nervously turned away from the accusing stares before nodding sheepishly. "Well, that too. In any case, Ranma's still here because he agreed with Soun's assessment. If he had felt otherwise you probably wouldn't even have seen him leave."

The argument died down, but she wasn't at all satisfied.

* * *

Ranma sighed contently as he entered the heated water of the bath. The sensation brought by a warm soak was quickly becoming his most treasured feeling, if only for its implications. It was the only place where his manhood couldn't be put into question, the one place where he could completely relax.

_You're in luck! He's half girl!_

Ranma was forced out of his drowsy state of mind by the bitter memory. He opened his eyes and glared at the tiled ceiling in petulant irritation. He was being petty, but he couldn't help it. The eldest daughter's little remark hit a little too close to home. Her comment had stung him fiercely and he couldn't let go of his resentment.

It angered him because he couldn't rightfully deny her allegations. No matter how much he wished it otherwise, Kasumi and Nabiki had spoken the truth and there was nothing he could do about it.

The curse was something he had no control over. It made him feel helpless and that was what truly angered him. It was a slight to his identity, a symbol of his weakness and he hated it. He imagined that he would feel a similar frustration if he ever lost a limb. To have control over something, lose it and be unable to get it back was just… vexing.

_Tch… nothing I can do about it. Might as well let it go._

He had a feeling that it wouldn't be so easy… especially if they kept up their antagonistic attitude.

_I mean really, I try to be nice and this is what I get? I don't hit the weak, but if you think you can just treat me badly then you've all got another thing coming. I can be just as mean-spirited as you can. We'll see how you like it, girls._

Ranma scoffed in disdain and turned his attention to examining the bruises he received from his father's attacks. There weren't too many of them and none were severe, but the sight of them made his scowling features tighten regardless. At ten years old, when he reached the intermediate level of ki control his healing rate increased exponentially. It would've made his life easier if his instruction hadn't accelerated accordingly.

The bruises would be gone within a few hours, but the memory of his defeat would likely remain forever. He hadn't been good enough. For a few seconds, he felt like a young boy again… back when he was starving for compliments and praises… but before he was strong enough to force them out of his old man. In the days where nothing he did was good enough, where his weakness created a gulf the size of an ocean between him and his father, where he had no time for friends or attachments because they would only hold him back. During their journey, he'd only allowed himself to bond with Ucchan and that one kid with the attitude problem and the bad sense of direction. He missed out on a lot of stuff, but it had been worth it in the end.

It was his most precious memory… the day he finally defeated his father and gained his respect. He had been fourteen, driven and incredibly serious. He had wanted it so much that he had shed tears of joy when it was over. His old man hadn't said a word. That silence meant more to him than anything he could remember.

He'd long since learned that nothing short of perfection was acceptable. Flaws in his technique could hurt his opponent just as easily as they could hurt him.

For the past two years, he had taken the edge off his training because he had believed that his current skills were acceptable. He had been wrong. Mr. Tendo had found flaws in his art. If his performance had been perfect, Soun would have remained as silent as his father had been on that day.

_Your skill in the art is commendable, but you still lack maturity._

His body wasn't a problem. It was sculpted and incredibly attuned to his needs. That only left one thing, control over his ki.

_So that's the next step… total control over my spirit…_

"I'll show you… next time, you'll be struck speechless," Ranma promised himself. Unfortunately, he wasn't exactly sure about the methods needed to accomplish his goal. All he really knew was that the training would end when he was capable of controlling his spirit. That meant being able to feel nothing as well as being able to feel anything. It meant being capable of matching an emotional stone or a spiritual kaleidoscope.

Once the technique was perfected, his will would theoretically be in complete control of his existence.

_Well… at least during fights. I don't think anyone could hold something like that all the time…_

The most important thing to remember when learning a new technique is to start at the beginning. In this case, before being able to simulate something… he should be able to simulate nothing. So he would start with that.

The young man exited the bath, dressed quickly and purposefully walked past the family room towards the guest room. As he passed by the family room's open door, he saw that the Tendos and his father were keeping each other company. They watched him attentively with questioning eyes but kept their silence. He reached his destination readily and wasted no time in falling asleep.

* * *

Nabiki frowned slightly as the boy named Ranma strode by the open doors. She found herself chilled by his frosty countenance, a feeling that was utterly foreign to her. His face, posture and movements showed very little to her practiced eyes. If there was one thing she learned from her father's martial arts training, it was the ability to read others. It was her greatest skill. The cursed boy left her sight quickly, but the chill remained a few seconds longer. It was odd that she had difficulty reading him when he was an open book to her earlier. All she could get now was a whole lot of nothing and a faint sense of determination. It was slightly disconcerting.

Akane shivered as the martial artist moved past the open doors in a controlled glide. At that speed, her eyes had no difficulty tracking his movements and analyzing them. His every movement was perfectly calculated to offer the maximum amount of mobility in any direction. She might have been able to do the same with some effort, but what was incredible was the fact that he wasn't doing it consciously. The sight of such mastery and ease simultaneously thrilled and inspired her. She admired his skill and dedication because as an artist, he was everything she wanted to be.

Kasumi looked on worriedly as the young man smoothly stepped in and out of her line of sight, his expression unreadable. His actions since her father's questionable ruling were reminiscent of something she'd read in one of Tofu's books specializing on mental health. Ranma seemed to be actively repressing his emotions and keeping them bottled in, which wasn't ever healthy but was particularly dangerous in his precarious situation. The poor boy was under a lot of stress and she was ashamed to admit that her earlier actions didn't help. Now that she'd had more time to cope with the situation, the fact that she had insulted him became crystal clear. She would've apologized to him, but he didn't seem to be receptive to any attempts at bridging the gap between them so she would have to wait.

Genma Saotome rubbed his chin as his son walked towards their shared room. "Huh… I haven't seen the boy look so focused in a while. I'll have to do something about that," he said pensively.

Soun Tendo looked at his friend in confusion. "What do you mean, old friend?"

"The boy loathes losing and tends to become single-minded when he has a clear goal in mind… That attitude of his doesn't exactly foster good relationships, Tendo," Genma pointed out.

Soun nodded thoughtfully. "I believe I might have an answer for that…"

* * *

Ranma raised an eyebrow and eyed his father skeptically. "School?" he asked.

Genma shrugged unhelpfully. "Well, we _are_ going to be staying a while," he noted.

The young Saotome observed his senior patiently. Under that worn bandana of his was the mind of a born trickster. It made him an extremely talented martial artist and a very hard person to deal with, if you didn't know him. Fortunately, all of his schemes were strictly short-term. Genma was incapable of keeping a scheme going for very long… he didn't have the patience for that kind of thing. Normally, if one stared at him for a sufficient amount of time, his defenses would crumble and his anxiousness would be revealed.

However, the more he stared, the more he became convinced that his old man had no ulterior motives in this decision. Of course, now that he was living here, it could mean that Mr. Tendo was the one who made the decision, but he wasn't about to seek the man out and confront him about it, not his house. Besides, he didn't have any kind of proof. In any case, unlike physical training, additional human interaction would be of great help to his training so he had no reason to actually refuse.

Ranma grunted in approval and returned to his meditation. His self-titled black tank top clung comfortably to his torso, his similarly colored loose pants hung off his folded legs, the invisible breeze entered through the open door and refreshed the large room with its scent and temperature… his father still graced his offspring with his prominent presence…

"Great! Get ready, you start today. Nabiki and Akane will accompany you."

And then he was gone. The young martial artist had to smother a spark of irritation at the narrow deadline but he managed to suppress it and get ready without failing his exercise. In no time at all, he was walking on top of a chain-link fence, two feet behind the two sisters. He had kept his black pants but exchanged the tank top for a high collared sleeveless white shirt. It had a front opening that was kept closed by four black strings. Even though his father had managed to get him registered in the short amount of time since their arrival, he didn't have a uniform or any actual school supplies yet. It didn't bother him too much… he was used to it.

He followed the siblings without keeping track of their conversation. Not only did it not concern him, but they seemed to be a little awkward in his presence. Akane in particular was periodically throwing loaded glances his way. He didn't know what she was thinking about and he didn't think she would appreciate him asking.

Besides, curiosity was a feeling and he was currently trying to suppress those.

Ranma spent the majority of the journey to Furinkan High School memorizing the town's layout in case of the unexpected, from the road names, to the landmarks and the rooftops. The last was always critically important when escaping pursuers. That activity alone was engaging enough to occupy his attention until the school entered his field of vision. He jumped down from the stone fence and followed his guides from ground floor as they approached the open gates.

His first thought about Furinkan High was that it was a nice looking school. Four stories plus roof, plenty of vegetation and well maintained at that. It was probably the classiest school he ever attended…

_Huh? _

Just inside the school gates stood the most peculiar collection of sportsmen he had ever seen. There were boxers, soccer players, football players, tennis players and various martial artists armed with blunt weapons. A mere glance was enough for him to discern a pair of nunchucks, a shinai, a bo staff and a tennis racket in the hands of appropriately dressed boys. What confused him was the fact that they didn't seem to be doing anything and he couldn't even attempt to imagine what they should've been doing. He couldn't think of any plausible reason why they would all gather there.

_What could they possibly be doing? Are they waiting for something?_

"Good luck, Akane!" Nabiki sang cheerfully. Her younger sister nodded tersely before dashing towards the small crowd of young men. As soon as they noticed her approach, they began chanting their individual mantras and matched her running charge with their own.

"Akane, date me!" and variations of that statement seemed to be the average slogan for the masculine ground forces.

"Hate boys, hate boys, hate BOYS, HATE BOYS!" was the lone female martial artist's motto. It was delivered with great fervor and accompanied by practiced blows. It was three seconds into the fight and he already knew who was going to win.

The attacking men had little training and no defense to speak of. Every engagement in the skirmish ended with a single blow knockout as Akane targeted vital spots and took advantage of open guards without mercy. In addition to their lack of skill, Akane Tendo's opponents were not trained to fight in groups. They were more likely to impede each other's progress than attack their actual target.

Ranma scoffed and momentarily loosened his control over his spirit. The recent series of events were simply too incongruous… he had to say something or he would go insane.

"They're wasting their time," he remarked.

Nabiki turned to him with a raised eyebrow, clearly waiting for him to continue.

"I don't know why they're doing this, but they don't have the skill to tangle with your sister. They know this and attack in a pack but it's not enough. They aren't coordinating their attacks. They're just waiting for a lucky shot that'll never happen. Akane studied your family art for years and is physically above them in every way. Their only chance at victory is to fight dirty and they're not willing to do that," he explained.

"How can you tell?" Nabiki asked curiously.

"What?"

"That they don't want to fight dirty," she clarified.

Ranma watched silently as Akane planted her foot in a boy's face with vigor. "They hesitate to attack her from the back; they don't grab her hair, they don't crowd her or hold her down… stuff like that." He scowled in annoyance. "This is just annoying. Her skills will degrade if these guys are her only opponents. It'd be cool if it was even remotely challenging, but this doesn't even count as a warm-up. No rhyme or reason in any of this. Why does she put up with it?" he asked.

Nabiki shrugged helplessly. "What choice does she have? They're doing this all on their own."

"How long has this been going on?" he asked with a gesture towards the ongoing conflict.

"Not too long… every morning for the last two weeks," she answered.

Ranma stared at the bruised fallen and shook his head. Every morning… "The reason they keep coming back is that she's taking it easy on them. They aren't learning their lesson because she's being nice,"

Nabiki turned to the concluding fight just in time to catch an unfortunate soccer player get roughly elbowed in the abdomen and kicked into the fringes of the collapsed crowd. Sounds of retching were heard soon after. She turned back to him with a look that clearly asked: _This is nice?_ "And what would you suggest, oh martial arts master?" she asked drolly.

He smirked in her general direction without deigning to look at her. "Easy. I was taught that one should only use the minimum amount of energy required to accomplish a task. Efficiency is vital to everybody, since we all have a limited amount of time. If she wants them to stop but doesn't want to hurt them needlessly, then she should hurt them a little more every time they attack her. They'll stop sooner or later. The smart ones will stop of their own free will and the idiots will stop when they realize that they can't do much of anything with broken limbs," Ranma shook his head as Akane fought off the last few stragglers. "Either way, this can't go on much longer or someone's going to get hurt… badly. And it's not going to be Akane." he concluded.

Nabiki had lost the skepticism that had plagued her and now looked at her sister somberly. "What's do you mean?"

Ranma grimaced slightly as he pondered that question because Nabiki's worry appealed to his empathy. He was offering her advice and she was taking his words seriously. Her sincerity forced him to take the matter just as earnestly as she did. That was what helped him realize that the rumble normally wouldn't have troubled him. _I probably wouldn't even have thought twice about it if it hadn't been for yesterday. Maturity, huh? Shit… I need this training more than I thought._

He sighed in sudden weariness and continued vocalizing his thought process. "Someone's bound to get hurt. Your sister is getting frustrated and the longer that goes on, the more she'll lose control over her movements. Eventually, she'll start to release that frustration onto the most obvious target and these guys aren't tough enough to handle it. Against the unaware, her skills are no joke. She'll hurt them permanently if she's not careful."

The middle Tendo sister groaned in exasperation as she rubbed the space between her eyes. "Alright… I'll have a talk with Kuno."

Ranma shrugged and walked towards the school gates. "You do that… anyway, Akane's done. Let's go."

As he advanced closer to the slightly panting martial artist, he heard Nabiki attempt to stop him. "No wait, Kuno still hasn't…" A thoughtful pause. "You know what? Never mind."

The young man glanced over his shoulder and immediately noticed the young woman's mischievous smile. He could've gone back and asked her what she was up to, but then he noticed that a young man in kendo apparel wielding a bokken had just thrown a rose to Akane. His choice made, he leaped onto the brick wall and pushed off of it to land lightly next to the anxious schoolgirl. She didn't appear to notice his arrival.

"Akane."

The girl shrieked and swung her book bag at his head. He easily stepped out of range and noted her excessive reaction.

_High strung isn't she?_

Akane quickly recognized the target of her attack and blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry," she mumbled.

Ranma raised an eyebrow in silent amusement. He got the feeling apologizing wasn't something she did often. "S'alright… No one got hurt," he reckoned.

"You there!" It was the rose throwing kendo practitioner. He looked quite irritated. "You are being quite familiar with Akane!" It seemed to be a warning. Ranma wasn't impressed.

He turned to face Akane and then Nabiki. Neither seemed surprised. Instead, he could see longstanding fatigue begin to settle into the younger sister's features.

_This guy must be special._

He had no idea.

"Ex-boyfriend?" he asked Akane. She swiveled around and stared at him incredulously, apparently struck speechless. He nodded at her reaction. "Yeah, I thought not."

"Who are you, boor? Ah! But it is the custom to give one's own name first! Fine, then! Mine I shall give!" It was less of a conversation and more of a soliloquy. It wasn't even like he was being talked at… It was more like the guy was having a conversation with himself. Not only that…

_This guy is incredibly pompous. _

"My name is upperclassman Kuno. Junior group E. Captain of the kendo club. Undefeated new star of the fencing world. But my peers call me… the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High!" Kuno proclaimed loudly and with a straight face.

_So this is Kuno? Even the old man was never this overblown. This guy has to be the biggest clown I've ever seen. Replace the stick with a pie and he'd fit right into a circus…_

Silence. It took a few moments for him to realize that Kuno was waiting for his introduction.

_Might as well humor him._

"The name's Ranma Saotome. I'm the heir of the Saotome school of Anything Goes martial arts. I'm currently staying over at the Tendo practice hall…"

His requested introduction was rudely interrupted as Kuno loudly and physically expressed his protest. "What? Under the same roof as Akane!" his upperclassman screamed as he closed the distance and swung the wooden sword at chest level.

The bokken easily slid through the air under Ranma's back as the pigtailed youth back flipped out of the way. He landed in time to hear Akane objecting Kuno's attack.

"Kuno! Ranma is the son of one of my father's friends, he is a guest!" she explained. When the defending martial artist saw that she would continue, he held up a hand to stall her response. Akane saw the gesture and decided to let him handle it.

He took his schoolbag off of his back and silently threw it to Nabiki, where it was least likely to receive damage. "Hey, Kuno…"

"You shall call me upperclassman!" the Blue Thunder thundered in outrage. He was ignored.

"You're the one who's behind the morning fights, right?" Ranma asked.

The older student took on an air of personal satisfaction as he began another speech. "Indeed, 'tis I! The beauteous Akane…"

Ranma quickly interrupted before he had to suffer through another long monologue. "Alright, I'll take you down quickly then," he forewarned.

The warning was unheeded as the kendo captain laughed derisively. "Fool! You dare assume to…"

The pigtailed youth stopped listening and concentrated on the fight, which would prove to be incredibly short. Kuno failed to react to his opponent's cut-in speed and found himself summarily disarmed and defeated.

Ranma periodically tapped the captured bokken onto his shoulder as he shook his head in slight disappointment. He hadn't been and still wasn't in any mood for the type of game Kuno liked to play, so he had decided to unquestionably force his superiority into the other boy's mind. He'd found a mile wide opening and he had taken it. The fight had been over when the temporary paralysis shiatsu strike landed, the following punches were simply to prove his point. It wasn't even close to his usual style, which was to see everything the opponent had to offer before defeating them and involved a whole lot of dodging, but in a way, he wasn't sorry. Kuno simply rubbed him the wrong way.

The victor had been about to rejoin the Tendo sisters when the loser managed to move his crumpled form and mutter: "I… fight… on…"

"Still conscious?" Ranma asked before he used the bokken's rounded hilt to sharply jab down onto another pressure point. Kuno lost consciousness immediately and hopefully lost any delusions regarding his chances of victory with it. If he was lucky, they wouldn't have to go through this again.

It was only then that it occurred to him that someone as annoying as Kuno would've been the perfect tool to help him with his new training. If he was capable of suppressing his annoyance when dealing with Kuno then he'd be able of suppressing anything.

_Oh well… too late for that. I guess I should start that up again._

Ranma took a few seconds to center himself and suppress his emotions before he went to retrieve his book bag. Nabiki silently handed him his bag and he nodded in thanks. She seemed to be a little stunned at the easy win. In contrast, her sister clearly expected the outcome.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked. She didn't seem to be too interested in his answer.

"Yeah, he'll be fine." He looked at the turbulent gray skies and winced. "Looks like it's going to rain soon, so I'm gonna go inside," he said.

As he stepped around the fallen brawlers, he couldn't help but notice the crowds of gaping students hanging around the school windows. For a moment, he wondered what they were doing there, but then decided that he didn't care.

* * *

You know what? Having no Internet sucks incredibly. 


	3. Don't Hold Back, Young Man

A field of faces stared him down, invoking feelings the like of which he could not stand. Ranma pounced on his urge to fidget and wrestled it down with excessive savagery and force. He's gone through this scenario several times over the years, and it never changed. There was no reason to feel preoccupied.

His new classroom was located on the third floor and was filled to the brim with people he didn't know. Experience taught him that he would probably never get to know any of them in any meaningful way. The members of Class 1-F were, with the exception of Akane, run-of-the-mill students led by a typical teacher. They would never be able to understand his interests and he'd long since learned that speaking of the Art to the uninitiated never worked out like he wanted it to.

His teacher invited him to tell his new classmates something about himself and he'd long since learned that making a good first impression was generally the way to go. So he plastered a grin he couldn't really fit comfortably on his face and spoke with enthusiasm he must've summoned from the ether, because it certainly hadn't come from him.

It wasn't usually so hard, but he wasn't feeling all that comfortable in his own skin lately.

He gave a concise explanation he wouldn't remember three minutes later and retreated to his assigned seat. He paid attention to the teacher's lesson for a few minutes before losing all interest and resorting to practicing his dexterity and precision using a pencil, a notepad and ki.

The exercise he chose wasn't particularly draining, but it required a constant level of concentration. He needed to make sure that the friction didn't rupture the paper or cause it to combust, complete his objective as quickly as possible and convincingly pretend that he was still paying attention. It wasn't easy, but he became somewhat of an expert over the years.

It only took a few seconds for an accurate picture of his classroom and its occupants to appear on his notebook, though it was still somewhat lacking in detail. After a few more seconds of speed drawing, he hurriedly removed the pencil point from his notebook before bringing it to his mouth and blowing on it.

He wasn't sure about the Tendo School of Anything goes but the School he would inherit from his father was based on speed and precision, so it wasn't such a large stretch for him to apply that to other physical activities. However, that did not mean he was gifted with artistic sense of any kind.

He still remembered the art teacher that had thought to teach his student about his chosen craft, only to discover that Ranma was totally useless with colors. Recognizing simple geometric shapes and replicating them on a two-dimensional surface was one thing. Discerning hues was something entirely different. In addition, brushstrokes were completely beyond him. Those damn things just didn't want to cooperate.

But, then again, he had apparently been making some very nice progress by the time he left. His father had finally earned enough money from his odd jobs to continue their journey and they were to leave in the early morning. His teacher had looked so disappointed that Ranma almost hadn't wanted to leave. In the end, he had promised to keep his skills sharp by practicing whenever he could find the time. To fulfill that promise, he fine-tuned his dexterity by drawing his surroundings whenever he had nothing better to do. It just so happened that classroom environments were extremely susceptible to produce sketches.

And no matter what anyone said, he wasn't _doodling_.

A fibril of smoke danced before his eyes for a moment before he realized what that entailed and hastily pressed his palm to the source in order to smother it. A few seconds of investigating his surroundings and rationalizing that nothing else was going to burst into flames or throw him out of class, he began to add more detail to the picture.

It was therefore quite surprising that he paid no mind to the incredulous looks being thrown his way.

* * *

Ranma desperately worked to keep his temper in check as he was forced to spend his favorite period of the day dealing with a hostile idiot. He wouldn't have minded the interruption if it had occurred during history or math class, as those courses were notoriously capable of inducing spontaneous bursts of somnolence regardless of the actual number of hours he had slept the previous night. He could have used the excitement then, it might have been fun.

However, any length of time dedicated to nourishment and free time was sacred. Especially if it took place outside of the general vicinity of Genma Saotome. Kuno had committed a cardinal sin and the young martial artist was having a hard time containing his impulse to inflict grievous bodily harm upon the sacrilegious fool.

Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that those impulses were exactly what had cost him the challenge the previous evening (maybe) so he wasn't exactly falling all over himself to indulge them, no matter how annoyed he was. Besides, situations like this were exactly what his new training were supposed to help contain, so he should at least make an effort towards remaining calm and efficient. He needed to get past this without resorting to excessive violence.

Of course, Kuno had to make that exceedingly difficult by destroying his lunch.

It was really quite frustrating, but he wasn't about to jeopardize his training by giving anything other than his best. No matter what happened.

Of course, that didn't mean that his definition of 'excessive' when coupled with the concepts of 'Kuno' and 'violence' hadn't lost vast amounts of definition. The well defined sculpture of a large, bald martial artist wearing a ragged gi in a specialized stance morphed before his very eyes, metaphorically anyway. His mental representation of excess seemingly aged at an accelerated rate, succumbing to the ravages of time and the elements in mere moments.

A veritable shower of dust fell from the monument, robbing it of facial features, clothes and a portion of its extremities. All that remained was a heavily muscled humanoid figure with a smooth, elliptic face. Oddly enough, considering the obvious damage the statue endured, most of the body parts needed to perform horrendous acts of violence were in perfect working order.

The Saotome heir ducked lazily under a wild slash as he pondered over the workings of his imagination. Not only did this keep his mind and feet off Kuno, it was also more entertaining than focusing on dodging the thunderous idiot's straightforward attacks.

Under normal circumstances, fighting of any kind during the school day was a welcome relief, but now that he couldn't allow himself to use aggression as an outlet for accumulated frustrations, the exercise was more bothersome than anything. If Kuno had been more skilled then that would've been a different matter, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Unfortunately, Ranma had no idea on how to get the other boy to cease hostilities for more than a few hours… at least, no idea that didn't involve crippling levels of damage. A clear demonstration of his superiority had already proven ineffective. Nabiki's classmate didn't seem to possess the mental acuity to recognize the futility of his own actions. Seriously, what kind of idiot challenges a thoroughly superior opponent moments after being soundly defeated?

He could understand obstinacy, mostly because his own character could be sometimes confused with it. But he believed that he was resolute, as opposed to being bullheaded. Resolution only had a purpose when it was used properly. As always, excess was the enemy.

The ideal martial artist would have recognized Kuno's endeavor, even approved it… if it had served any purpose beyond salvaging pride. In truth, Kuno had nothing to gain and everything to lose by defeating him here. In the best case scenario, Kuno would win the fight and gain absolutely nothing. Even if his earlier loss had been a fluke, which was unlikely, establishing that as a fact would only highlight his fallibility. It was always better to lose against a superior opponent than to lose against one's own flaws. Or at least, that was what Ranma believed.

In all likeliness, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High would lose once more and carry with him the marks of that defeat. Bruised flesh, strained bones and shattered pride. At worst, Tatewaki Kuno would lose his life. Ranma was well aware that accidents did happen, especially in live combat. Of course, the chances of that actually happening were slim to none, considering Ranma's control over his abilities, but they existed regardless.

So was it too much to ask for a little respect? Did Kuno deem the difference between their skills to be so inconsequential that he could achieve victory with a renewed assault? In his place, Ranma would have spent a few days training or at least worked out a few strategies. Judging by the lack of set-up and follow-up strikes, the kendoist fully expected each and every one of his strikes to connect and instantly dismissed every failure as a stroke of luck.

His opponent was a fool with delusions of grandeur, a megalomaniac… and a psychiatrist he was not. So he stalled and began to contemplate waiting for the Blue thunder to tire himself out. If that failed, he would probably have to wait for his ire to fall to safe levels. If he pressed the offensive now, he'd probably end up destroying a few of the cafeteria's tables and ultimately failing his task.

"Accept your punishment, knave!" his upperclassman yelled in mid-swing. The partially hidden rasp in the aristocrat's voice was immediately detected.

Ranma took his eyes off his opponent for the sole purpose of rolling them. Being forced to decipher the meaning from Kuno's unnecessarily eloquent speech pattern was also grating on his nerves. "Out of breath, are you?" he said indifferently. Even taunting this particular opponent bored him.

"Silence! Your despicable ways will not save you forever," Tatewaki threatened ineffectually.

"What are you talking about?" he asked wearily.

Kuno swung his bokken around dramatically, obviously using this opportunity to gather his energy. "This foul illusion magic! Waste not thine energy, sorcerer. I shall uncover thy true form regardless," he advised mockingly.

He was starting to get a headache. "Oh, this is rich," he mumbled. "So now the reason you keep missing is because of magic? You think that the reason you can't touch me is because I wasn't there in the first place?"

The swordsman pointed his sculpted piece of wood towards his target. "The Blue Thunder cannot be fooled so easily, but that did not stop you from making the attempt, scoundrel!"

Ranma shook his head in dissatisfaction. Enough was enough. Obviously, Kuno wouldn't leave him alone until he fully appreciated the situation. Luckily, the defending martial artist had an inkling on how to deal with the current state of affairs, thanks to his training. From the outside looking in, Genma Saotome always looked like the worst teacher in existence, but that wasn't exactly true. The senior Saotome was a great teacher, insomuch that his only student always learned his lesson in the end.

In some cases, his methods could probably be improved upon, but that didn't make them any less effective. The Saotome elder had never asked for something he knew his son couldn't provide. However, just because Ranma was able to offer something did not mean he should, far from it in fact. For instance, just because he was capable of sacrificing a piece of his sanity for the sake of the Art doesn't mean that it was in any way advisable.

The art of convincing an opponent of one's utter superiority in body and spirit was a technique that Genma had used liberally to keep his son in line throughout their journey. It was deceptively simple. All one needed to do was to clearly point out the target's weaknesses while remaining completely untouchable.

_Might as well give it a try…_

"What did you call yourself? The undefeated star of the kendo world?" Furinkan's newest student scoffed. "Was that supposed to impress me by the way?"

His upperclassman moved into a hostile stance as he glared towards Ranma. "You dare mock our nation's most glorious art?" He seemed insulted. Good.

"What's so glorious about fighting with sticks? Kendo isn't an art, it's a sport. It's just a cheap knock-off of the real thing. Kenjutsu is solid, but what you're doing isn't it. This," he said, gesturing at Tatewaki's form, "is just a joke."

Kuno growled harshly before dashing towards his stationary opponent and launching a powerful overhead blow, his energy focused with a triumphant kiai.

Ranma, who had seen the blow coming from a mile away, moved his right hand into the proper position and easily caught the bokken before bleeding off the momentum to his right, coming to a stop at chest level. He felt his upperclassman's attempts to free his weapon but kept them at bay with little effort. He wasn't quite done talking yet.

"In the end, a stick is just a stick. Even if you strengthen your attacks with ki, it's useless if I can do the same. The core concept of kenjutsu involves sacrificing defense for overwhelming offense. Most battles end after the first blow, so speed is _everything_. Tell me Kuno, have you ever defeated an opponent?" he asked suddenly.

"Are you accusing me of lying?" Tatewaki hissed.

"No, dimwit, that's not what I meant." Kuno bristled in anger and redoubled his efforts to free his weapon. "I mean that, in all your officially sanctioned matches, did you beat your opponents until they could no longer move? Or did the referee simply force your opponents to give up because they would've been injured if you'd been using real swords? Everything in kendo is done with the assumption that you're wielding actual weapons but you're not and you probably never have. You're just a wannabe swordsman.

"You're a big fish in a small pond, Kuno. They would eat you alive out there in the ocean. I am a martial artist and you are an athlete. We live in different worlds and I'm not here to play games with you. Stop bothering me," he ordered before letting go of the wooden blade.

Naturally, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High could not contain his anger and attacked as soon as he was able. Unfortunately for him, he failed to learn his lesson from that morning. With both hands on the hilt of his bokken, Kuno was defenseless in extreme close range. Since he didn't bother trying to keep his distance, it was exceedingly easy for Ranma to penetrate his defenses after dodging his attack. In no time at all, Tatewaki Kuno was out for the count. Again.

Ranma dusted his hands off and nodded. There, maybe that would teach him.

* * *

Of course, he should have known better. But as he went through the day, beating Kuno left and right, a change occurred in Ranma.

If he was being honest, he would have to admit that he rather admired Tatewaki Kuno.

Really. No joke.

There was something about the man's determination to succeed no matter the odds that appealed to him. At first he was just irritated, but now he couldn't help but respect the sheer determination, to say nothing of his resistance to pain and humiliation, even as his skills and intelligence were openly disdained. It was like watching a mentally deficient puppy trying to make it to the other side of a wall by running straight at it. If you watched it long enough, you couldn't help but start hoping the bricks would crumble under the onslaught.

Of course, he wasn't going to lose or anything, but still.

"You know Kuno, you're amazing. Your persistence is just unbelievable. I've beaten you four times since this morning and you still come back for more!" said Ranma as he slid around a series of sharp swings. "You're so tenacious sempai! So focused! Imagine what you could accomplish if you were just a little more intelligent!"

"Rawr!" said Kuno.

Well, that's not exactly what he said. Kuno's actual reply was certainly much more verbose, seeing as his lips had yet to stop flapping about, but Ranma had taken to ignoring his words and replacing them with appropriate sounds. Kuno really was like a puppy, completely innocent and inoffensive, so from now on he was going to sound like one.

"Grr!" growled Kuno in a high-pitched tone. He stepped in and swung his bokken towards Ranma's neck, missing once again as Ranma ghosted around the attack.

Ranma's smile was drawn off his face when he recognized two of the figures standing by the school gate, watching his fight. His eyes didn't linger on them long, but the damage was instantaneous. The entertainment value of the fight plummeted into the realm of the tedious and the dull.

_This is a waste of time. _

Maybe… maybe he was going about this the wrong way.

He had thought that he could wait and had intended to do so, even just a few hours earlier, but his intentions were thoroughly battered by a dozen or so close calls. He never could have imagined the sheer number of cold water sources he would find in close proximity. It made him nervous. One errant splash and he would have to deal with more crap than he could ever withstand.

He was supposed to work on his maturity, but how could he? His mind kept going over the series of events that would inevitably occur if someone like Kuno learned of his secret. He could see it just now. Kuno would use the information to insult, humiliate or blackmail him and Ranma would have to kill him or at least maim him. He didn't want to do that. Kuno was an ass, but he didn't deserve that.

He didn't have the time to stick around this place, going to school, playing games with his seniors. He needed to get his body back, if only because he wasn't at all comfortable like this. Whenever he thought about it, every time it crossed his mind, it was like he could feel it crawling beneath his skin. How could he work on his spirit when he couldn't rely on his own body? He had to go back. He had to prove to his father that he could survive China.

There was only one way to convince Genma that he was ready.

_A martial arts contest huh? Alright then. We'll do this your way, old man._

Ranma chuckled. "You know what Kuno? I think you've got the right idea."

"Woof!" barked Kuno.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. He wasn't mature enough, they said. His art wasn't good enough to survive China, to survive the Amazons. But they weren't offering to train him until he did get strong enough! They weren't lying to him, but were certainly underestimating his skill, nitpicking to reach their own ends. As if he needed to be perfect to beat one murderous girl!

_Yeah right! I can handle Shampoo, no problem! If beating you isn't enough to make you believe that then I'll just have to up the ante, old man. And I _did_ beat you, even if I lost the challenge. I'll silence the both of you!_

He had a plan. It wasn't a particularly good one, but it was a plan. He might have to lie, but one way or the other, he was going back to China tomorrow.

_Sorry, but I can't afford to stay here and I am not getting married like this. You can't hold me here, old man. Not if you won't teach me._

And Genma would not teach his son until he did what he wanted. Not that he had much else to teach him, really. Ranma's technique was polished to a shine. He had mastered every technique he had ever tried to learn, no matter how much it cost him.

His father told him just before they reached Jusenkyo that there was little else he could do to improve on his style. Now, he would have to work on his physical abilities. According to his father, that could wait until he reached his physical prime… in about ten years. In other words, he was on his own.

Ranma jabbed at Kuno's heart, hitting a particular point with a precise amount of pressure, immobilizing Kuno's limbs for close to a full second.

Kuno whimpered sorrowfully, pleading. But it was for naught. Ranma was merciless.

He didn't particularly like kicking puppies, but in his defense this particular breed was much uglier and stupider than others. Kuno was eating dirt in record time and Ranma was warmed up and ready for his next fight.

Ranma looked at his downed opponent and bowed his head. "Thank you, Kuno. I'm ready now. You really are an inspiration."

With a short laugh, Ranma walked away from the defeated challenger and towards the coming challenge. As he walked through a gap in a throng of chattering students, he saw Mr. Tendo's daughters and smiled. He'd always liked fighting with an audience.

"You look happy," Nabiki remarked. "Did you have fun beating Kuno-baby?"

"Not really."

She raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't look that way to me."

Ranma smirked. "Whatever. You don't have to believe me. I'm leaving soon, anyway."

Akane jerked up. "What? Where are you going?"

"I'm getting rid of this curse. I don't have any time to waste. My old man can stick around if he wants, but I'm outta here. I mean, what if there's a time limit or something? I know it's dangerous and I know he's worried, but I can take care of myself."

"Why won't he let you go anyway? I mean, what could possibly be dangerous enough to hold you two, big, strong martial artists away?" Nabiki asked.

Ranma grimaced. "It's a long story."

"I've got time."

"Yeah? Well, I don't."

The older girl crossed her arms. "Come on. It can't be that bad."

"Nabiki, maybe he doesn't want to talk about it?" Akane said.

Nabiki shifted her weight and stared at her younger sister. "What do you care, Akane? Don't tell me you like him. You just met him yesterday!"

Akane glared. "I never said that! I just thought that maybe he wouldn't like to be pestered by some nosy girl he just met. It's called being considerate Nabiki, you should try it sometime."

Seeing the frown on Nabiki's face was enough for him to decide to interrupt. "It's no big deal. Someone made a solemn vow to chase me to the ends of the earth and kill me."

The sisters stared at him in shock and disbelief. "You… you're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Why'd you think we got out of there so fast? We only got cursed about a week ago."

Nabiki recovered first. "Assuming you're telling the truth, what the hell did you do?"

Ranma shrugged. "We walked into a martial arts competition and ate the feast that was supposed to be the prize. So I entered the competition and defeated the champion in front of the entire village so we wouldn't get in trouble. Didn't work out. Turns out some people can't handle losing."

"Are you serious? What did he do? I mean, what makes you thing he was really trying to kill you?"

Ranma scratched at the back of his neck. "Well, you ever wake up with an arrow in your hand without knowing how it got there?"

Akane shook her head. "What?"

"Never mind. I don't think we want to know," Nabiki said.

Ranma shrugged and began to walk towards the Tendo's home. "Suit yourself."

"So, um… Ranma. How are you going to get to China? Your father already…"

Ranma watched Akane from the corner of his eye. He didn't really know what to make of this girl. She was pretty angry yesterday when she walked in on him in the bath and she had been outraged by the idea of becoming his fiancée, but now here she was acting like none of it had happened. She'd been pretty nice to him when she didn't know about his gender, though, so he decided not to give her any attitude. He wasn't going to be around for much longer anyway.

"My old man had a challenge for me and I failed it. He still hasn't given me a reason to stay, though."

Akane frowned. "So, you're just going to leave?"

"Nah. If I did, he'd just come after me. I could outrun him, but it would take a while. Besides, if I go to China with enemies in front and him at my back, I'll just exhaust myself. I have a better idea. He had a challenge for me and now, I have one for him."

"Really? What makes you think he'll accept?" asked Nabiki.

Ranma smiled. "He won't have a choice."

* * *

For the second time in as many evenings, the three daughters of Soun Tendo bore witness to a scene out of the ordinary.

As soon as the trio of students returned home from school, they headed into the family room where their fathers were entertaining themselves with ancient games and chilled drinks. Ranma entered the room like a hangman at an execution. Silence settled between the martial artists and grew fat and heavy with words unsaid.

Akane watched them with anticipation, drinking in the atmosphere with bated breath. There was something about these men that she couldn't clearly identify. It was like a heaviness that weighed on something intangible and forced unconscious reactions that she could not predict or resist. It was something she'd never really experienced before, in all her years as a martial artist, in all her years living with a master. She didn't really know what to feel about that. Part of her was amazed and awed, but another more egotistic part was very much saddened and frustrated.

She had believed that the barrier above her was the very limit of her potential, made of indestructible metals and forged by gods. She'd been wrong. Now that she was looking, she could see him on the other side, clearly and without distortion, because the ceiling was made of glass. Just… bonded sand.

Kasumi's quiet whisper barely reached her ears in any intelligible manner. "Nabiki? What's going on?"

Nabiki turned from the scene just beyond the open door and answered just as quietly, "Our young guest is about to show his dissatisfaction with our hospitality."

Suddenly, Akane realized that her sisters probably didn't understand exactly why they were whispering. She herself could only guess that it was out of some unconscious desire not to draw attention to themselves in the presence of such incomprehensible beings.

It was a very peculiar feeling. It wasn't quite a feeling of fear that spread from her father and his guests. Or rather, she didn't feel threatened by them. It was closer to how she felt in her youth when her father spoke to another adult and wanted her to stay out of the way. Not quite intimidation, but not entirely dissimilar. It was as if they had authority of some sort.

And that's when it clicked. She understood. It was power. She could feel their power.

Genma coughed. "Well, boy?"

Ranma crossed his arms. "You know why I'm here."

The father looked at his son and laughed. "Yes, I didn't think you'd be satisfied with just that," he said, turning back to the game board to move one of the pieces. "So, what have you come up with?"

Ranma's frown denoted his displeasure, but no more. She wondered what had caused it. Was he angry that his father wasn't taking this seriously? Or was he concerned because his father didn't seem at all surprised?

"You won't let me go to China."

"No, you aren't ready."

Ranma shook his head. "Why do I get a feeling that I'll only be ready once I get a ring on my finger?"

His father smiled. "You're a clever boy."

"I've got a challenge for you."

Genma moved another piece. "I'm listening."

"If I can beat you, you'll let me go to China."

He shook his head. "That's not enough, Ranma. Some things out there are more dangerous to you than me, especially since I'm your father."

Ranma turned his head slightly, and stared at her father. "You weren't the only one I was talking to, old man."

The game paused as the two men stared at one another. Genma looked at his son. "Now you're just getting cocky boy."

Ranma slowly approached the table until he loomed over the two men. "You think China is too dangerous. You don't think I'm strong enough. I don't agree with that. The only way to change your mind is to prove my ability. If I can beat two masters of Anything Goes martial arts then I'm strong enough to handle China. Not even you can tell me otherwise."

His father sighed heavily and crossed his arms. "You _still_ don't understand why we left."

"_I can_ _handle her_, old man," Ranma said, stressing his words.

"I _know_ that!" Akane drew back under the force of the yell. "She's not what I'm worried about boy! If you can't even beat me without breaking some furniture, do you really think I can trust you to handle her without making more enemies? You have a gift for making people hate you boy."

Ranma stared at the space where their table used to be and grimaced. "So what? I'll just avoid her then."

Genma was undaunted. "That girl wasn't the strongest person in that village Ranma, not by a long shot. I want to be cured too, but it's just too dangerous to go right now. The village is too close to the springs. If we lay low for a while, we might be able to sneak in later. _Listen to me_, boy."

Ranma uttered a grunt of frustration and clenched his fists. Everyone could see that he was done listening. "Do you accept my challenge?"

The father stood. Flinty eyes seemed to bleed disapproval from behind dirty spectacles. The heaviness in the air multiplied. Akane turned to check on her sisters, worried about their reaction. Their eyes latched on to her, pleading for help. She looked up and down. Horror mounted her heart when she saw stillness in their chests. She tried to walk towards them, but couldn't bring herself to move her legs.

She heard Genma say, "Fine, I'll just have to beat the truth into you. Tendo?"

Her father seemed completely unruffled. He took one last sip from his _ochoko_ and set it down. "Are you certain, old friend?"

"He won't listen to reason. Don't hold back."

Genma's last instruction was followed by a whirlwind of swift movement and sound. Heavy footsteps rang through the air as the three martial artists jockeyed for position. Ranma backpedaled urgently. He crossed several feet with every stride to avoid the brunt of his father's charge. He ducked and spun out of the way of crushing blows.

The doors to the backyard were right behind him, casting golden light into the room. The young man approached them at a fulgurous pace. He weaved around several more attacks then, for no reason that she could see, stepped directly into the path of an overarching kick. His father's thick shin struck his hastily constructed guard. His guard held, but he was pushed back several inches.

At the top edge of her vision, she saw a man fall from the sky.

Her father attacked from above like a screaming eagle dropping on its prey. It quickly became clear that he would overshoot his mark. He compensated, twisting about in midair. His right leg whipped towards his target.

He was too far. His foot only managed to graze Ranma's clothing. Soun landed sideways, with an arm and a leg dangling in the air.

Ranma shoved his father back. He whirled around, flipped forward and used every muscle he could harness to send his foot crashing down from above, screaming, "Hyaa!"

Soun's eyes were wide and uneasy. His arm moved to block the path of Ranma's ankle. The strength of her father's defense was nothing but a passing nuisance against the force of the boy's kick. It pushed past his guard. "Ooph!" A burst of air escaped his lungs. The kick hit him in the upper chest and carried him all the way down. He slammed into the floorboards with a cringe-inducing thump.

Ranma scrambled to regain his feet. He nearly lost his balance as he unexpectedly jerked to a stop. He pulled again, but went nowhere. Her father's hands were clutching his left leg.

Genma's face was a portrait of ferocity harnessed. His kick lunged towards his trapped son like a javelin shot forth from the hand of a demigod.

Ranma reacted. His wrists caught the strike from beneath. He had an instant to push it out of the way. He didn't succeed. It hit him squarely in the shoulder. He was sent tumbling back, over her father's body and into the ground.

Apprehension rang clearly in Akane's mind. That must have hurt.

A flurry of obscured movement sent Soun rolling across the ground. Now freed, Ranma flipped to his feet. Just like yesterday, his leg moved so fast it disappeared from her perception.

Genma skidded to a stop and jerked his head back. It wasn't quite enough. Ranma's toes caught the edge of his glasses and knocked them off their perch. By the time they hit the ground, his son was no longer in the room.

Genma sighed. "Damn it." He turned towards her father. "How are you doing?"

Soun climbed to his knees. "Well, I must say my pride is quite bruised."

Mr. Saotome let out a sharp laugh and said, "You get used to it." He extended his hand. "Come now, no rest for the weary."

Her father grabbed on and was pulled to his feet. "What was that kick he used against you?"

"No shadow kick. Something he picked up from a monk last year."

Her father looked surprised. "He? You mean you don't know it?"

Genma smiled wryly. "The boy says he's willing to negotiate, but his price is ridiculous. Selfish little…"

"You haven't figured it out?"

"He knows me too well. I'm guessing he modified it for his own use. I keep trying, but it never works out well." Genma shook his head. "Watch out for that. He's used that move twice in two days. He's never done that before. The boy is dangerous when he's angry. Let's take our time, wear him down. Don't attack him if it will leave you open."

Soun nodded and rubbed at his chest. "I didn't think he would dodge that. How much damage do you think he took from that kick you landed?"

"Not enough to slow him down."

Her father smiled. "I didn't think so."

Genma picked up his glasses and put them back on. "Alright then, let's get to it."

The two men rushed out of the room. The sound of combat reached her ears soon after.

"Okay." Nabiki sounded composed, incredulous and completely pissed off. "Now that I can move again, will someone please tell me what the hell just happened?"

Kasumi pressed her hands against her heart and sighed. "Well, that was unpleasant."

Relief flooded into her as she watched her sisters, apparently uninjured, "Are you two okay? I thought you couldn't breathe."

"Well, it wasn't quite that bad," said Kasumi.

Nabiki thought differently. "What are you talking about? It was horrible!" She turned to her younger sister. "I saw you move, Akane. How did you do that? I tried everything and I couldn't even move a finger."

Akane shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think it's because I'm better trained than you two."

"Not exactly. It's because you have more confidence in your ability to defend yourself."

Akane and Nabiki turned to stare at their sister. Kasumi met their eyes evenly. "What? I may not practice the art, but I am father's eldest daughter."

She was a gentle soul, but Kasumi's authority was unquestioned. Her younger sisters looked away.

"Well, yeah. But why doesn't Akane know then?"

"Akane was never interested in learning the theory behind what father taught her. He was always disappointed with that, so he talked about Akane's training with me." Kasumi shrugged. "I listened."

"Oh." Akane had not been aware of this. The idea that her father had to go to one of her sisters in order to discuss martial arts was somewhat hurtful. She pushed it to back of her mind. "Um… So, Kasumi. What was that?"

"What do you think?"

Akane held back a grimace. She hated it when Kasumi did this. Why couldn't she just tell her the answer? "I'm not sure. I think… maybe it was their power?"

Nabiki looked skeptical. "What? What does the size of their muscles have to do with anything?"

Kasumi gave her sister an unfriendly look. "Let her speak, Nabiki."

With her sister thus reprimanded and silenced, Akane felt comfortable enough to continue. "Well, I'm not talking about their physical strength. It's more… mental. No, emotional. They were angry, and we could feel that. We didn't want to draw their attention to us because we knew that they're so much stronger. At least, that's what I think."

Kasumi nodded. "Yes, that sounds right. You'd have to ask father to get a proper answer. We were paralyzed by Ranma and Mr. Saotome's battle aura."

Nabiki frowned. "Battle aura? Is that a technique or something? What the hell are those two idiots doing using something like that near us?"

"Come now. Don't insult our father's guests. A battle aura is perfectly natural phenomenon that occurs around skilled martial artists when they begin to express aggression," Kasumi explained.

Nabiki crossed her arms. "Oh really. How come I've never felt one before now? Daddy gets angry all the time."

"Of course you've felt it, Nabiki. It just didn't affect you in the same way. You know our father will never hurt you. Haven't you ever wondered why none of our friends ever want to come over?"

Nabiki started. "They always said Daddy was scary, but… I could never see why. It's because of his aura?"

Kasumi nodded. "The reason why we were so affected this time is because we aren't used to the Saotomes yet… and because young Saotome is very headstrong. His father was very angry."

"Headstrong?" Nabiki scoffed. "I think you mean stupid. I mean really, what kind of plan was that? He thinks he can just beat everyone into submission? What a brute."

Akane thought about that for a moment. Nabiki's words didn't rest well with her. "I don't know. Sometimes… sometimes you have to fight for what you want, even if it means going up against one man or one thousand, against one master or ten. I mean, he's fighting for his freedom, isn't he?"

Nabiki shook her head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. What's the point of starting a fight you can't possibly win?"

"I think you might be underestimating him," Kasumi remarked.

Nabiki rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you think he's going to win."

"Not today, but he might if he gets lucky. I don't know about Mr. Saotome, but father is very worried, tense. Ranma made a smart choice. He's got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Even if he loses this fight, he can just try again tomorrow or later, and he can keep trying until he does win."

"What?"

Kasumi explained, "The challenge has been accepted. Father and Mr. Saotome can no longer refuse it without losing face, and face is the only thing keeping Ranma here. Father and Mr. Saotome are in quite the pickle. They're on the defensive, and Ranma is just going to keep attacking."

"Huh. Okay, so maybe he thought that out more than I thought he did. It's still a bad idea." Nabiki glanced towards the battle going on outside and headed off. "I'm going upstairs. I've got things to do."

Kasumi hummed. "I think I'll get the first aid kit."

Akane watched both her sisters walk off in opposite directions and chose to walk into the sunshine. Into a world filled with passion and fury. With headstrong boys and stubborn men.

She didn't know who she would root for, but for now that didn't matter. For now, the fight was all.

* * *

_Ow._

The heavy mists of unconsciousness hindered his every act, his every perception. They wrapped around his limbs like phantom children seeking respite from the cold. They filled his mind like poisoned, thickened blood trying to squeeze its way through his brain's capillaries. The end result was not unlike a busy highway during rush hour. Everything was obscured by thick, noxious smog and slowed to a crawl.

And yet, even with his perception of the world so occluded, the pain of his existence shone through.

It hurt. He was hurt. His body had sustained damage. His cells and nerves screamed into the void of their agony, and he heard their plea. Their family and friends murdered, their comrades mutilated. His body was crying, and with nothing else to focus on, it was all he could do not to join in.

It would pass eventually, in mere seconds most likely. Still, there was little worse than the first moments of awareness after waking from unconsciousness. Ranma took a deep breath and slipped into a state of deep meditation, directing his body to use the resources his life and soul brought to the table.

His cells quieted. Their god had listened. They were becoming whole again. Recovering what they had lost. Healing what could not be recovered.

The mists dissipated in turn. His eyes opened.

A beautiful young woman appeared before him. _What's her name again? _It took him a moment to remember. Kasumi, the oldest of his potential fiancées. She was nineteen and… he knew nothing else about her. Was he really expected to marry one of these girls? _You're an idiot, old man._

Her eyes drifted towards him and quickly latched on to his face. "Oh! You're awake," she said.

Ranma nodded and began to shimmy his way out of the futon he was lying in. They had brought him to the guest room, he could see his pack laying in the corner. A closer look revealed that his father's bag was conspicuously absent.

_Heh. See you in China, old man._

"Do you always smile like that when you get your butt handed to you?"

Ranma turned in the voice's direction and met a pair of naked, shapely legs. He blinked. His eyes began the arduous task of climbing the mountain of female before him. The moved up the sleek slopes of her naked thighs and just kept on climbing. Finally, on the verge of reaching her hips, they latched on to the pale fabric of a pair of shorts that protected her modesty.

Something inside of him sighed in relief.

The rest of the climb was much simpler and took his eyes past an elaborate shirt that offered little to no protection, past her delicate neck and towards her lips.

Ranma frowned. He recognized the tilt of her lips. Reading body language was an excellent skill for any martial artist, one he had mastered a decade ago. If there was one thing he knew, besides the art that is, it was mockery. Nabiki, the second oldest of his potential fiancées was mocking him.

"What was that?" he asked.

"You were smiling. I didn't know you had anything to smile about," she said.

"Humph! You must not know much then."

Her smile didn't budge. "You've got a lot of nerve for someone who was just beaten into unconsciousness."

Ranma smirked. "And you've got a big mouth for someone who doesn't know what she's talking about."

"Enlighten me, then."

Immediately, Ranma realized what she had been trying to do. She was working him for information. It was a classic move. Get an opponent angry and he'll make a mistake. All of sudden, he remembered that all three of these girls had been raised by a master of Anything Goes. They may not all practice martial arts, but that didn't mean they didn't learn anything.

Three daughters… Akane, Nabiki and Kasumi.

_Body, mind and soul. No… It can't be. _

Right then, he was struck with a realization that shook the foundations of his relationship with these girls. The greatest strength of the art was composed by unifying the body, the mind and the soul. He had barely spent more than a few hours with any of the girls, but even he could see that each of Soun Tendo's daughters had followed one path of the art more than the others.

_Soun Tendo… did you plan for this? Or is this just a coincidence? Pick the one I want, huh? You meant, pick the one I have the most trouble with. The one that will help me grow the most. Heh, that's one hell of a choice. I don't have trouble with any of them. The body holds the technique, the mind carries the understanding and the spirit gives power. My body is clever, my mind is strong and my spirit is unbendable. Bet you didn't expect that, did ya?_

"Well? Are you concussed or something?"

Ranma looked at Nabiki's annoyance and smiled. His current train of thought could wait. He could think of marriage after he returned from China. However, this girl was all kinds of arrogant if she believed that she could handle his anger. It was kind of funny, so he decided to indulge her.

"Okay. Anything in particular you wanted to know?"

Her smile slipped off. She hesitated. He knew what she was thinking. She was expecting him to come out with some lengthy diatribe from which she could pick out whatever information she wanted or, barring that, she expected him to back off. Instead, he was inviting her to take what she wanted.

During a fight, if one participant insults another, he expects a response. The other participant can either attack in anger, potentially revealing a weakness, or remain unaffected. Ranma did neither. He basically walked away from the fight, or even better, he stood his ground and asked her to punch him in the face as hard as she could. There's no way she could ever feel comfortable taking that opportunity.

He was right. This girl really did know the art. As unlikely as it may have seemed, her actions and responses fit within the boundaries of Anything Goes martial arts. She even had a predilection towards offense. Interesting.

Kasumi jumped onto the opportunity left by her sister's silence. "Ranma, do you mind if I asked a question?"

He threw a glance towards her. She looked concerned. "Sure, go ahead."

"Are you really okay? You looked so injured… Father didn't pull his punches."

Ranma smirked. "Of course not, I wouldn't have gone down if he had." With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself to his feet, waving off Kasumi's attempts to help.

Standing upright, he stretched and pulled his muscles in every which way, wincing whenever he worked something tender. Someone had stripped him of his shirt and replaced it with strips of bandages and acrid smelling ointment. He shrugged his shoulders. Cracked his neck.

_Good. Full range of motion._

He was battered, bruised and he'd try to avoid looking at himself in a mirror for a while, but he could still fight. He was fine.

"Yeah, I'm good."

Kasumi sighed. "That's fortunate."

Ranma nodded. "Now, do you mind if I ask you something?" He waited until she shook her head and continued, "If I'm right, my old man and your old man decided to skip out of town for training or something."

Kasumi blinked. Nabiki stared at him. "Yes," the oldest admitted. "How did you know?"

Ranma pressed on. "Did he say how long they'd be gone?"

"Mr. Saotome didn't say much, but Father said he would contact us in four or five days."

He mulled it over for a second. "Four days huh? They'll probably call in half that time… maybe less. Okay, I guess that's enough of a head start."

Nabiki stepped in front of him. "You're leaving?"

"In less than an hour," he confirmed.

"How'd you know?"

"How I'd know they'd leave?" Nabiki nodded, her expression unreadable. "It's because they can't afford to lose."

She crossed her arms, and seemed immersed in thought. "You weren't fighting to win."

He shook his head. "I was. I always do. I put everything I had into that fight." _And I lost. _"But you're right. This is my main plan. Winning was my backup."

"What would you have done if they hadn't left?"

He shrugged. "I would have challenged them again. And again. And again. They know that. They had to leave, really. They can't even attack me as hard as they might like without looking bad. Two masters against one underage boy? Imagine if they had broken some of my bones and had to bring me to a hospital. They had to worry about that during the fight, and that weakens them. They may have won, but they could feel how close they came to losing. That will press on their minds, it will make them anxious. They know that if they fight me again, they might make mistakes they won't be able to recover from. Their confidence is shot. The only way to build that up is to practice and they couldn't do that anywhere near me. If my old man's not here to hold me down, there's nothing keeping me here."

Kasumi expression showed deep worry. Her hands squeezed each other in her lap. "Ranma, I don't know about this. This seems dishonest."

Ranma nodded. "It is. That's why I'm leaving now. They have so much more to lose than I do. So many more things to worry about. All I have to do is fight and they would have broken eventually. I don't want that. I just want to get my body back. I want to be able to swim again without feeling this curse twist my body into something I'm not. I want to be able to go to school without having to keep an eye on every single source of water in the building. You can't deny me that."

Her eyes stared at the floor. Her lips twitched and pressed together.

Ranma walked the few steps that separated them and crouched to her eye level. Her eyes connected with his immediately.

He stared her down and spoke the truth. "I will fight them on every turn, at every opportunity. As long as they stand in my way, there will be no rest for any of us. It'll just be unnecessarily painful, Kasumi. If I stay here, I will break them. I will."

She could not stand his intensity and turned aside.

"Please. Don't try to stop me. Let me go. Let me be free."

Silence enveloped them, broken only by the sound her breath. Her eyelids dropped to protect her from the world.

He waited.

Her lips pulled apart and returned together, allowing nothing to pass. Her eyes opened, and traced the contours of his face.

He waited still.

She glanced at her sister, communicating silently. She sighed, closed her eyes and nodded.

"Thank you."

He stood. His travel pack sat in the corner of the room, waiting for his support. He had never bothered to unpack, so everything he couldn't spare was still inside. Visions of the road ahead urged him on. The sooner he left, the better. Time would make him harder to find. For the first time in his life, he was about to set out on a journey without his father by his side.

_Looks like it's just me this time. Adios, old man. Till we meet again._

He looped his arm into one of the straps and pulled. The bag didn't budge. It was much too heavy. With so much on his mind, he didn't really notice this or think about it at all. For the most part, he was functioning on automatic. His knees bent and his grip clenched around the straps. With his muscles prepared and advised and with leverage in his corner, he pulled again. This time, it cleared the ground.

His pack was heavy enough to shatter the floorboards it fell onto when his fingers lost the power to hold it. The crash it made was barely loud enough to make itself heard over the sound of his suffering. He screamed.

_AAARRGH! What?_

He fell, and hit the ground on his side. He clutched at his leg without comprehension. It hurt. It _hurt_. He could do nothing but acknowledge that one singular truth. _**It hurt**_.

His leg felt like quicksilver. One moment, it was solid, reliable, functional. The next, it felt like his cells learned of disgust and warred with their neighbor. Like each and every one forged knives out his nerves and stabbed one another incessantly, each act serving only to shoot raw pain to his psyche.

He breathed like he was starved for air. Adrenaline was pumped through his veins. He knew what was happening, dimly. His body was overreacting, preparing itself for deadly battle. Each of his cells bathed in energy. They held nothing back. They worked harder, created more heat, making him sweat. He burned from the inside out.

He was in agony.

_I… I can't… Aargh…_

Ranma howled. His thoughts were scattered. He had been caught off guard. Without focus, he couldn't muster up the will he needed to overcome this cutting pain.

_No. Enough. Don't suffer. Endure._

His eyes snapped open, unseeing. His mouth opened, but he said nothing. He clenched his teeth and fell silent. Time passed.

"Ranma!"

She was shaking him. His hands clasped around her wrists, stopping her. He took a deep breath. "How long was I out?"

Kasumi shook her head. "I… I… I'm not sure. A minute, maybe?" She seemed a little distraught. Her hands trembled in his grasp.

He let her go. "Huh. Felt like forever."

"What happened?"

Akane stood in the middle of the room, wearing a yellow gi. She must have been practicing. Her eyes fluttered in their sockets, watching the area for threats. Her fists were clenched. She was in a dangerous mood.

Ranma mulled over her words for a second. He had an idea but… "I'm not sure. Let me check."

In one swift movement, he flipped to his feet, making sure to keep the affected leg off the ground. Akane and Kasumi tried to get him to lay back down, but he waved them off. Nabiki remained silent, watching the scene with cool eyes.

Ranma slowly extended his leg to its full length. Nothing. He brought it towards his chest. Nada. He twisted it and turned it in every direction. Zilch. Finally, he executed a magnificent combination of kicks that would have laid down a giant.

He frowned.

He put his foot back on the ground and put a little weight on it.

Crippling pain writhed through his body. But he was ready for it this time. His knees buckled, but he refused to crumble. His teeth clenched together, and he couldn't help but groan. "Arrgh…"

"Ranma!"

He slammed his hand against the wall and held himself up. He waved them off again. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Do me a favor, will ya? Open my backpack."

"What?" Akane asked.

"My backpack. Open it."

Hesitantly, she took a few steps towards his pack, looking back to see if he would change his mind. Eventually, she reached the bag and began to rummage through it. "What? Weights? Hey! These are ours!"

Ranma sighed. He looked at the ceiling as the pain faded. "Hey, these bandages… who put them on me?"

"Huh? Oh, after your fight, Dad called Dr. Tofu and…"

"This doctor… he a martial artist?"

Akane paused before answering. "Yeah…"

"Shiatsu master?"

"Well, y-yeah… B-but Dr. Tofu would never…"

Ranma lowered his head and chuckled. "Heh, looks like the old man was one step ahead of me. Did the doctor leave anything? A pair of crutches maybe?"

Akane started. She looked down. "Yeah… He said… he said you might need them."

"You mind getting them for me?"

"No…"

"Thanks. Oh yeah. Do you have anything like a list of all the martial arts schools in the city?"

She looks to him, seeming a little surprised. "Um… yeah. I think I have an address book, somewhere. You want me to get it after I get the crutches?"

"Actually, could you get that first? I'm not going anywhere for a while anyway." She nodded. "Thanks Akane. I appreciate it."

She smiled dimly and nodded again. She left the room slowly, with her head bowed and her shoulders drooping.

Kasumi stood. "Ranma, I feel I must apologize for this."

He stared at her. "Why? You didn't do anything."

She fidgeted. "While my father isn't here, this house is my responsibility. I feel that I have to make amends for the way you've been treated."

Ranma waved her off. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Besides, this is mostly between me and my old man anyway. Your father's just along for the ride."

She looked disappointed. "Are you sure?"

He leaned his back against the wall and slid down. "Well, I guess I'm a little hungry. Is there anything to eat around here?"

"Oh, oh of course! I'll get dinner started right away. Please, excuse me." Kasumi bowed her head and swiftly exited the room.

The only sister left pierced him with her stare for a long second. Then, on some unseen signal, she pushed off the wall and headed out.

"Hey, Nabiki, wait a second."

She arched an eyebrow. "What? Don't tell me you have a task for me too. You've got Akane fetching books and Kasumi cooking dinner. What could you possibly want from little old me?"

Ranma cracked his neck to the side and yawned. "I'm just guessing, but I think you're the least attached to the good doctor. So you're my best bet."

She crossed her arms, but seemed interested. "You want information?"

"A guide," he corrected. "I need to pay him a visit."

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'll try to get him to undo whatever he did to my leg… but either way, he needs to learn how to stay out of my business."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why should I help you?"

He smirked. "Come on. Live a little. It'll be fun."

She didn't believe him. "How could it possibly be fun?" she asked.

"Haven't you ever wanted to see a cripple beat up a doctor?"

She cracked a smile. "Alright. I guess it'll be worth it just to see you lose, but you owe me one."

He nodded, smiling back. "As long as it's not my soul."

* * *

Over two years since I wrote for this? It's been a while.

Well, I wanted to write something simple (all of my other fics are really complicated), so here I am. Hope you enjoyed this. If you didn't, then please keep your comments constructive. If you're just looking to bitch then you can go elsewhere.

Surprisingly, I had a lot of fun writing this, so chances are good that it won't take two years for me to write some more.


	4. Release your aggression and focus

Nabiki Tendo's domesticated eyes perceived an intermittent vision of the world. It was as if the street was but a vandalized mural ruined by several cans of black paint and only a series of strategically placed lampposts allowed her to see sections of the original picture, beyond the stain of darkness. The sky above seemed to have evaporated, like the rest of the universe had decayed into rolling clouds of black dust.

A bitter wind rolled past the houses of the neighborhood and gnawed at her skin, slowly devouring her warmth. She shivered and rubbed at gooseflesh in her arms, as the blouse and skirt ensemble she had chosen to wear obeyed the laws of fashion, but wasn't quite up to the task of protecting her from the elements.

Nabiki sighed. She really should have brought a jacket.

Her companion didn't try to conceal his apprehension as he stared high above. "Think it's going to rain?" he asked. He appeared to have no problem making his way around on a pair of underarm wooden crutches., keeping pace with her and never once stumbling, even with his attention scattered. Part of the perks of practicing martial arts, she guessed.

"Do I look like a meteorologist?" Nabiki rolled her eyes and wondered why she had agreed to accompany him in the first place.

"No," he answered. "But you do look like someone who pays attention to the weather forecast."

She glanced at him. "Don't you?"

Ranma shook his head. "I don't watch TV, I don't listen to the radio and I don't read newspapers."

"Jeez. What do you do all day?"

It was hard to distinguish meaningful gestures amongst all the arm movement, but she was pretty sure he had just shrugged. "I improve."

Skepticism had served her well throughout the years, to the point where she had rewarded it by making it a staple of her personality. Faced with such fanciful claims, she could not help but do what came to her naturally. She couldn't really conceive of an existence so focused on one thing, especially something so... simple.

Her disbelief crept into her tone and infected it like influenza, launching itself alongside her voice as she said, "That's it? So you just lift weights all day?"

"There's more to training than just lifting weights." He didn't seem at all offended, even if she hadn't taken any particular care in wording her question. His answer bore no undercurrent of frustration or disdain. "I mean, yeah, I work out in the morning, but that doesn't take more than an hour or two and I only do it if I need to. I spend some time practicing my technique, working on my form and meditating. I read some fiction every once in a while and the old man usually sends me out to see some movies whenever we can afford it."

She raised an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with martial arts?"

"Helps with creativity," he said. "No matter how strong your body is, a dull mind will tear it down faster than any strike."

Nabiki smirked and shook her head. "I think I see where this is going."

"Oh really?"

"Let me guess. Everything you do counts as training, right?"

He smiled. "Heh. More or less."

They walked on. Nabiki threw a couple of curious glances in his direction, but said nothing. She had a question, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to breach the subject. It was something she'd always been curious about, but it wasn't the kind of thing she wanted to question her father on, for fear of how he would react.

Sometime after the fifth such glance thrown his way, he turned to her. "You got something to say?"

She paused and decided to take a chance. "Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"Not even for a second."

"Right..." She suppressed a sigh. She never really understood the passion her father and sister had for martial arts. She just never got the appeal. She never got the why. Ranma's answer spoke of unreasonable, almost fanatical devotion to a form of combat rendered obsolete by centuries of technological advances, and it was about what she'd expected.

She was therefore surprised when she realized that he wasn't finished. "Don't get me wrong. I never said I didn't get bored, but those are just temporary moments of weakness. The mind gets weary, distracted. It's got nothin' to do with the art itself."

Nabiki watched him hobble forth on his crutches and felt her curiosity blossom. Here was a young man her father wanted as his son-in-law, a fact that couldn't possibly be more obvious. That was very interesting, because Soun Tendo never liked any of the young men his daughters befriended. That was the reason why none of them had any close male friends, why none of them had ever been in any serious relationships. A master of Anything Goes was too big an obstacle for any normal young man to overcome.

But now, her father went and pulled a complete 180. What was it about Ranma that made him so valuable to her father? He was certainly attractive so at least the children would be beautiful. Ranma was also very respectable to a man like her father. The young man possessed a sort of brash confidence that made him stand out, made everyone sit up and listen, if only so they could have an easier time tearing it down. But really, she knew none of that had anything to do with it. It was the art. It had to be. That's what her father wanted from Ranma. That's what he was willing to sell his daughters for.

In her mind, in the minds of all his daughters, Soun's attitude was incredibly jarring. She knew that he loved his daughters, the only remains of his family more than anything in the world. In her entire life, she had never doubted that. Never, and that idea was not up for debate. So why then? Was Ranma's art really so valuable? Was it really, truly worth it?

She couldn't stop herself from asking another question. "How long have you been doing this again?"

Ranma looked up and searched the clouds for an answer. "Seriously? Since I was three… I think. Ever since I can remember, really."

"And you've really never gotten bored with it?"

"Would you ask a painter if he was sick of pictures? Or a pianist if he was tired of music? Hell, would you ask Ichiro if he was sick of baseball?"

Nabiki shook her head. "That's different."

"In what way?"

"Those are all professions."

He didn't bother to dispute her point. She'd kind of expected him to, but he surprised her by nodding and moving on. "Alright then. Would you ask a monk if he was sick of praying?"

She stared at him. "Are you calling martial arts a religion?"

"Hey, why not? It's even got several churches! There's the church of self-improvement, the church of protection, the church of violence…" He burst into laughter.

"Be serious."

He waved off her glare. "Alright, alright." His chuckles died down. "Religion is all about the search for strength, the search for meaning, from without. The art is the exact opposite. You just need to remember one thing. I don't just practice martial arts. I am a martial artist. I mean, it's not just a hobby. It's not just a calling. It's… it's like a language. No, more than that. It's a nationality… no, uh… what's the word?" He stopped to search his mind for a second.

She gave him time. Her eyes wandered the deserted streets, lingering on several landmarks. They weren't too far away from the Doctor's clinic.

Ranma's fingers clicked together. "Ethnicity, yeah! Being a martial artist is like belonging to an ethnic group where everyone can kick ass. I may have been born Japanese, but I was raised in the land of fisticuffs. The art isn't something I do. It's who I am. It's what I am. So to answer your question, no, I don't think I've ever gotten bored with myself."

"Don't you think that's a little much?" she asked.

"No, I don't think I do," he answered. "You might think I'm exaggerating, but there's really no other way to describe what the art means to me, what it encompasses."

Nabiki didn't quite know what to think about that. "If you say so."

"Well, what about you? Is there anything you like to do? What are you, Nabiki Tendo?"

"I'm—" What could she say to that? She was a student? An amateur businesswoman? An extortionist? What? In all honesty, she was, "—nothing in particular." For the first time, she felt just a little embarrassed about that. He made her feel inadequate, like she didn't quite stack up. It was a little irritating.

Ranma just shrugged. "Fair enough. What about this Tofu guy? I'm guessing you won't be able to tell me his weaknesses, but could you describe him a little?"

"And ruin the surprise?" she smirked. "Well, I guess you do need the help. Still, this wasn't in my contract."

His eyes narrowed. "Alright then. Just one question. How long has he known your father?"

"Huh? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Has it been five years? Ten? Fifteen?"

She didn't see the harm in answering. "Well, he's been our family doctor for about a decade now."

He mulled that over for a second and nodded. "Thanks. That's good to know. I'm guessing you're all pretty attached to him." She held back a smile. He was lucky he'd asked her and not one of her sisters. "I'll try not to break anything. Oh yeah, you uh… might want to stay outside until it's all over. It's gonna get messy."

She snorted and crossed her arms. "I still don't see how you expect to win with your leg the way it is."

Ranma looked towards her. A playful smile graced his lips. "I've got a few tricks up my sleeves."

His comment drew her eyes to the outer edge of his shirt and the bulging muscles that tightened and flexed to support his body weight.

"I don't doubt that."

* * *

"What's up, Doc?"

The words were delivered by a masculine voice and seemed cheerful enough, but were marred by an undercurrent of carelessness. It was like no amount of bad news could knock his smile off of his face. Like you could tell him your entire family just died in a horrible accident and he would just shrug it off, saying something like, "That's too bad. Ya want some pie or something? I've got some in the fridge. It's _delicious_."

The voice also came from right behind him, close enough to shove him face first into a freezing pool of anxiousness. His sense of anticipation was completely blindsided. The surprise of it almost made him jump up from his chair and kick the intruder in the neck, but that wasn't acceptable. He was a doctor now, after all. Tofu clamped down on his bucking nerves and forced himself to remain still. A second later his pen continued where it left off, scratching words onto paper.

"Aren't you a little old for cartoons, young man?" he asked. He didn't recognize the voice, but the list of people who had both the cause and skill needed to sneak into his clinic without his notice was extremely limited.

"I figured it'd be appropriate. You're Tofu, right? My name is Ranma Saotome. We haven't been formally introduced yet, but I think there's something we need to talk about."

Tofu smiled grimly. "Ah yes. Mr. Saotome's son. You needn't worry. I've already discussed the situation at length with your father."

Ranma hummed, somehow making his complete disinterest abundantly clear. "I'm sure you did just that. I'm also sure that you think that this is all for my own good or whatever. I can respect that." Tofu doubted that. He really did. "But see, this is where I start to have a problem. You used a shiatsu point on me. I'm going to have to ask that you remove it."

Tofu flipped the page and continued to write his daily report. "You know I can't do that."

"Well, I didn't know you could read minds, doctor."

Tofu got the message underlying it all. _You don't know me, doc. _This was what the boy was actually communicating. A belligerent youth, this one was. He was trying to seem reasonable, but he wasn't making much effort to hide his views.

There would be no compromise today. That much was certain. Still, Tofu wasn't about to attack preemptively. He would just have to follow this sham of a conversation to its natural end. "I need your father's permission before I can perform any operation." _Don't be so sure. Your father told me quite a lot about you._

"My old man isn't here, and I'm old enough to make my own decisions." _I don't care. Keep your nose out of my business._

"Your father will be back in a week or two and, well, that's a matter of opinion." _You're not leaving. Mr. Saotome and Mr. Tendo put all of their children in my care during their absence. You're one of them, and I won't disappoint them._

"Well, aren't I lucky then? Opinions are forever fickle." _Do it, or I'll make you._

"Not in this case. I'm not going to change my mind." _Just try it._

Tofu threw his pen down and shoved himself away from his desk. His chair screeched against ceramic tiles as it carried him across the room and away from the blunt swing of a wooden crutch.

Ranma stopped the blow an inch away from the desk. "Aw, but you haven't even heard my arguments. I'm sure you'll like them. I've been practicing for most of my life, after all."

Tofu stood up and kicked the chair out of the way. "Mr. Saotome was right not to let you go. Try to understand that, young man. Have a little self-awareness. Here you stand, starting a fight you have no hope of winning and for no good reason."

The young man cheeks flushed red and his lips pulled back in a snarl. "Who are you to judge me, doctor?" The title was spat out amidst specks of secretions and derision.

Tofu bristled under the ridicule. He could barely stomach the arrogance. This boy dared to ridicule his accomplishments? His trade? This little brat had no idea of the amount of effort it had taken him to learn his knowledge and skills. None! Tofu couldn't condone such disrespect from someone who wasn't even half his age.

But Ranma wasn't finished. "I'll give you a damn reason. What you did, it hurt quite a bit. Forgive me if I'm a little aggressive right now in front of the man who ruined my leg while I was unconscious. I gave you a chance to back out, to make things right, but now that you've made your choice, it's time for payback. Maybe next time, you'll mind your own business."

Tofu scoffed. "Do you really think you can just make me do what you want?"

Ranma shook his head. "Nah. I told you, this is just payback." He reached behind him, towards an overstuffed bookcase.

Tofu could have dodged, in fact, he probably should have. But his medical books were expensive, and some of them were quite rare. He couldn't help it. When a reference work the size of a phone book was sent hurtling at his face, he simply raised both arms and caught it. He quickly dropped it somewhere out of the way to make way for the next book.

The doctor had just enough time to contemplate the book's oddly oblong shape before it accelerated, avoiding his hands, and whipped him across the temple. His head was nearly sent flying but for the flesh and bone of his neck. Tofu pulled his head back to face his opponent in time for his eyes to catch another blow heading towards him, a fist this time.

His head was a little woozy, but his instincts were primed and ready. His eyes sent a map of his opponent's form to his brain where it was matched against years of deeply ingrained knowledge.

His index and middle fingers clung to one another and straightened until they resembled nothing but a pair of knives, sharp and well balanced. The call to attack, to counter rang throughout his entire body. They flew out towards their targets like snakes, with the suddenness and speed of white lightning.

They stopped just short of their marks, an inch away if not less. He didn't understand. He tried to push them forwards, he strained and shoved, but to no avail. Finally, he managed to recover his knowledge of basic physics. Ranma's elbows were blocking the way.

The realization that he'd left himself open was stuck in transit. Ranma cocked his arms back and shot them forwards like they were rocket propelled. His palms slammed into Tofu's chest with implacable force, right over his lungs. It felt like getting hit by a fifteen hundred pound wrecking ball shot out of a cannon. He and his breath suffered a cruel separation. It went in one direction and he went in the other.

He slammed into a wall with his legs akimbo. Gravity pulled him down, but a vague sense of warning made him pull his legs back underneath him. Leaning heavily against the wall, Tofu cradled his chest and winced. He tried to breathe, but his body wouldn't cooperate. His lungs swore that they were full even as the rest of his body screamed for air. He tried to force it but was interrupted by a surge of piercing pain, which wasn't at all helped when he began to cough uncontrollably.

He shook his head and tried to recover his senses. He remembered… He remembered being kicked in the face. When considering the distance between he and his opponent, Tofu had predicted that Ranma would continue using his books as ammunition. That… wasn't what happened. Apparently the loss of Ranma's leg wasn't as big a hindrance as he had expected.

"Not quite so easy when I'm awake, is it?" Tofu looked up. Ranma was lounging in his chair, with his limited leg crossed over his knee. With a gratified smile etched on his face he waved Tofu closer.

The doctor didn't quite follow the boy's train of thought. He merely blinked, once and then again.

Ranma's brows furrowed in an increasingly severe manner the longer he was forced to wait. Finally, he smacked his hands together, producing a clap that broke through the lines of grogginess that occupied Tofu's mind. "Oi!" he yelled. "We're not done yet. Come on! Have you no pride?

"So you got knocked around a bit and you can't breathe so well. You've got no one to blame but yourself. If you really spent so much time talking to my old man then you should've known not to underestimate me. Get off your ass. I'm supposed to lose this fight, remember?" Ranma remarked in an infuriating manner. The boy's cocky grin was what really sold the sarcasm, what made it believable, unavoidable. _I am better than you, doctor_, he seemed to say, adding the title out of spite.

Tofu pressed his hands against his support and pushed himself back up to his feet. Far from being discouraged by this show of endurance, Ranma's smile grew wider and he leaned back into his seat. "If you're going to act like such a big shot then you should at least be able to hit me. Knowledge is useless if you can't apply it, right? So, come on. Show me what you can do, doc."

That inviting smile was maddening. Those vicious eyes were frightening.

Tofu thinned his lips and sighed. This was turning out to be a lot more trouble than he'd expected. He was beginning to realize why Mr. Saotome and Mr. Tendo felt the need to leave the city. Ranma… arrogant or no, one only had to look at him to realize that he had full confidence in his ability to defend himself, regardless of his handicap.

Tofu raised a hand to massage his neck's sore muscles and frowned. Perhaps the boy wasn't entirely wrong. The ache of the flesh was immediately dispelled by his skilled fingers, but the damage was done. That kick had stretched the muscles and maybe even damaged the ligaments. It was vulnerable now. Any further impacts could severely limit his range of motion and absolutely destroy his head's resistance to damage.

Ranma yawned, making sure to exaggerate the sounds and motions to an obnoxious degree.

Not one to keep anyone waiting, Tofu spat out a wad of reddish spit, gathered his wits, and dashed forwards. Ranma, seemingly possessed by the spirit of nonchalance, simply watched him advance.

Tofu gathered speed and dropped into a sliding low kick, aiming to knock the chair's legs clean off. Ranma's trust in his seat was rewarded when it stood on its hind legs. Tofu's voracious attack bit into nothing but air. Undaunted, the doctor brought his other leg over and around into a wide sweeping kick. He missed. The chair clacked and scraped the floor loudly as it landed at his side.

Tofu rolled away before he could fall victim to any attacks and convinced another shallow breath to squeak into his lungs. This wasn't working. Tofu resigned himself to the truth. Ranma was faster than him and his reflexes were top notch. The first attack just wasn't likely to land. He would have to draw the boy into an exchange in order to provoke weaknesses into showing themselves.

He flipped to his feet and settled into an offensive stance. It would give away his intentions, but he needed every ounce of speed he could get. He searched his opponent for information but found little aside from obvious feelings of amusement. Tofu successfully checked his irritation, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. Ranma was proving to be an extremely annoying opponent.

"Come on! Will ya hurry up? Kasumi's making a special dinner for me."

Tofu saw red.

* * *

Something about waiting outside of Dr. Tofu's clinic after dark while a young man presumably tried to work out his frustrations on the doctor made her feel like a lookout at a shoddily executed bank heist. Paranoid, stressed, but almost bored out of her mind.

Nabiki paced anxiously along the side of the clinic, glancing at the door handle periodically. "What are they doing in there?" she mumbled, thinking up several unflattering terms for her houseguest. She kept imagining what would happen if one of the doctor's regulars showed up for an unscheduled visit and walked into a scene straight from the first chapter of Assault for Dummies.

Her feet slowed to a stop. Indulging Ranma's request was starting to look more and more like a bad idea.

Nabiki sighed and idly began to gnaw at her thumbnail. What had she been thinking, really? But, maybe she was being too hard on herself. After all, when she had made her decision, she had expected to be wonderfully entertained by Ranma's quest for vengeance. But now, here she was, cold and alone, away from the action. Actually, that brought to mind another, much better question. Why the hell was she listening to Ranma?

She might want to stay outside until it was all over, he said. It might get messy, he said. What a hypocrite. He didn't have any problem fighting with her entire family in the room just the day before.

Nabiki's expression wrung itself into a scowl and she huffed in outraged irritation. The real reason behind his request was obvious, now that she thought about it. Ranma just didn't want anyone to see him lose! Unfortunately for him, she wasn't quite so magnanimous as to deny herself such quality entertainment for such a paltry reason. Determined and excited, she stalked towards the door and grabbed the handle.

_Crash!_

She moved no muscle, but strained her ears. What was…

_CCCRRRRAAASSSSHHHHHHH!_

The sound of destruction emerged from deep within and pushed her back with imaginary force. The instincts that forced her into withdrawal left her several feet away from the closed entrance, staring at the innocuous door and questioning herself on the wisdom of her decision. Nabiki swallowed her pride, quelled her beating heart, and did not move closer. Perhaps she was a little hasty in discarding Ranma's advice.

She wasn't a fighter. If she went in there, she would have to rely on the combatants to keep her safe. If he said that she was better off outside, who was she to doubt his word?

That realization made her wonder. Exactly why she had it taken her so long to think of that? Just whose ability had she trusted to keep her safe? Tofu's or Ranma's? Had he really made such an impression on her? It seemed unlikely, but… maybe he was a little more charismatic than she'd realized.

Her eyes drifted to the door handle. Nabiki again found herself contemplating what lay beyond it. She had to admit, that boy was interesting. What he could do with his body… it was almost compelling.

She brought her memory of the sound back to the forefront of her mind and played it back again. It almost sounded like one of the walls had come crashing down on a cardboard box filled with expensive dinnerware. Something brittle was broken into pieces, but that sound was almost immediately covered up by a heavy impact. She tried to think about where in the clinic it could have taken place, but couldn't really come up with anything. Unlike her sisters, she hadn't spent much time inside of it. Giving up, she settled in and began to wait.

Ten seconds passed. Slowly.

Nabiki sighed. She couldn't do it. Something incredible was going on inside those four walls and she was supposed to just wait here and do nothing? It was impossible! Maybe… maybe she could find a way to watch without actually going inside? There weren't any windows she could reach, but if she just opened the door, she could just stay outside and still have a great view of the action!

The strength of her idea carried her forwards and possessed her limbs to fling the door aside, revealing a scene embedded in shadows. The interior of the clinic was fraught with living darkness that clung to every surface, engulfing the room in its entirety.

Nabiki squinted, hoping to pierce the veil of obscurity, to no avail. Her ears depicted a picture of savage style. Their movements crashed through the air with such force that the sound of its displacement matched that of a gale passing through a mountain range. They were close. Close enough that the breeze born of their intensity caressed her skin with maddening constancy. Close enough that her heart began to curl in anxiety.

The frustration mounted. She was scared, but apparently not scared enough. So, with thoughts of failure and disappointment nibbling at her impulses, she took a step out into the void. And then another. And another.

"Aah!" she shrieked.

Some long and white object entered her field of vision and flashed towards her head. She recoiled instinctively, but it was moving far too quickly for her to do anything. Before she could even take a single step backwards, it had reached her head, gone past it and struck the wall with a sharp crack.

A sudden onset of blinding light forced her eyes shut.

"Don't move!" a harried young voice ordered.

She froze completely, like her joints were made of cement. For once, Nabiki wasn't inclined to disobey what was so blatantly an order. For several seconds, she stood amidst a hurricane of movement, breathing deeply and standing perfectly still, attempting to gather her scattered wits.

A rush of wind, louder and somehow sharper than the others, caught her attention and dragged it back into the fight. She dared not move, and suddenly she wasn't sure if she even wanted to watch. All of her focus was applied into making sure she remained stock still. As far as she knew, any distraction might just prove fatal. Her fear swelled and ballooned from a dwarf into a titan and in that moment, she felt as though Ranma could kill her with an errant cough. So she chose to keep herself ignorant of the undoubtedly fantastic goings on.

That decision was not to last. Once again, her curiosity got the getter of her. Her lust for knowledge, information of any kind, gained in momentum with every gust, every blow, every whisper of movement around her. She had no choice. She had to see. Her eyes cracked open, almost against her will.

The first thing she saw was his pigtail whipping along the path set by his head half a dozen feet above the floor. With a rolled up blanket wrapped around his arms and chest, he cut through the air in the middle of an acrobatic flip.

Ranma twisted his body in midair to bring his feet back between his chest and the ground, but before he could hit the ground he was set upon by familiar figure wearing an unfamiliar expression.

It was Dr. Tofu, and he looked angry.

Nabiki found herself marveling at the way a few twists and creases in a normally trusted and almost comforting face could turn it into something so repulsive. With his upper lip peeled off of his teeth in a vicious snarl, the murkiness of his glasses' lenses took on a more sinister flavor. His arms were raised above his shoulders, making him look like a Russian wrestler about to take on a grizzly.

But Ranma was a wily beast indeed. Despite the doctor's dangerous approach, his movements weren't at all hurried, his reactions not at all rushed, making it seem as though he were in complete control of the encounter, as though Tofu's actions were nothing he hadn't encouraged into occurring. He landed cleanly within the doctor's range, keeping one leg off the ground and shoving it knee first against Tofu's advance.

The older man slammed into it with reckless abandon, receiving it directly into his solar plexus. Intellectually, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it must have been terribly painful, but Tofu didn't seem to agree. His toes scraped against the floor in an effort to gain more traction as his forward momentum pushed Ranma back several feet and forced him off balance, flipping the angle of his body from an aggressive forward slant to a vulnerable backwards slope. Gravity immediately worked to pull him down using innumerable ropes attached to his every molecule.

And just like that, he was falling.

His arms were busy blocking Tofu's sudden onslaught of furious punches and the only leg that could support his weight was trapped between Tofu's thighs. There was no way he would be able to drag it back. He was falling, and in that moment she was convinced. He had lost. The rest of the fight was a mere formality. Once he hit the ground, that was it.

Tofu's head snapped towards her with a crack.

Nabiki blinked. How…?

The leg that was still lodged in Tofu's abdomen somehow managed to find enough space to extend and smacked the doctor solidly across the side of the head. The man wobbled dizzily, but still managed to keep Ranma's good leg between his own. The young martial artist was past the point of no return. His back would certainly hit the ground and he would not be able to recover before Tofu's recovery.

Ranma must have forgotten about his affliction, because he quickly pulled his free leg back beneath him. She grimaced, expecting a show of agony that would only exacerbate the unholy beat-down Tofu was going to inflict on the young martial artist. But just as it touched the ground, before any weight was put upon it, it bent.

He landed on his knee, hard enough for her to wince in sympathetic pain. A flash of white streaked towards Tofu's neck and wrapped around it like a boa around its prey. The doctor, visibly choking and thrashing about, pulled desperately on the rolled-up blanket, but it would not budge, it would not release him. His face quickly grew ripe with old blood, his movements decayed, becoming sluggish and weak.

Ranma, still holding onto the other end of the blanket, looked at his opponent like a snake about to spit venom. He jerked back onto his end of the makeshift rope, sending the doctor into a tumble, releasing his leg, and pounced onto him like a wild jungle cat pounces on an ostrich. Tofu's grunts and choked squeals gained a more strident pitch as he was forced to carry the weight of his attacker, but still he refused to go down. A flurry of movement enveloped the two of them until Ranma somehow managed to, while he was upside-down, grab onto Tofu's waist and thread both his legs through the doctor's armpits and over his neck.

Ranma's leg and back muscles were immediately put to work, the fibers pulling together and exerting monstrous pressure onto his captive. With Tofu exhausted and only half-conscious, he never really stood a chance. He buckled under the force and was driven into a downward arc.

_Crack!_

The back of his head hit the floor with a hefty sound, and his struggles ceased.

Nabiki stared wide-eyed as Ranma pushed the doctor's motionless form off of him. That crack had sent shivers running down her spine. "D-did you kill him?"

The boy didn't answer right away, allowing her apprehension to shoot up into the stratosphere and explode, raining down on everything below and poisoning the earth. He got up on all fours, gasping heavily. Now that she had a good look at him, she immediately noticed the pallor of his skin and the abnormal amount of sweat his body was producing. He remained there, failing to catch his breath before shaking his head. "No. He'll be fine."

She couldn't just take him at his word, though. "What was that noise then? It sounded like his skull cracked right open!" Of course, she could always check his pulse, but she wasn't about to get any closer to a potential murderer.

He threw a glance towards her, and spoke in short, breathy sentences. "You see any blood? That sound was the floor breaking. He's a martial artist. You think he'll die from that?"

He was right. There was no blood. If he had been severely injured, or worse, then there would definitely be blood and lots of it. She relaxed. "Oh. So he'll be okay?"

He only nodded. His chest heaved as he tried to gather enough oxygen to fuel his needs. It didn't seem to work.

"Are… you okay? You don't look so good."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. You mind doing me a favor? The medicine cabinet over there," he nodded his head towards it, "can you get me some syringes?"

She blinked. "Some? How many do you need?"

"Four or five big ones," he answered. She didn't bother to ask him why.

The room was trashed, almost completely destroyed. Broken fragments from the walls and ceiling littered the floor, shards of wood and plaster that she had to walk around. One of the acupuncture tables was broken in half and several of the cabinets were turned over and smashed against the ground, breaking their glass windows and spilling their contents in a wave of junk. The good doctor was going to have a hard time cleaning this place up. She sympathized.

But then, payback was a bitch.

She spotted a few plastic syringes, still intact in their individual packs, and picked them up. "Here," she said, handing them out.

Ranma nodded in thanks and took his shirt off.

_Well, would you look at that._

He was incredibly muscular. His torso was not at all bulky or thick, but with ridges that accentuated the definition of each muscle. It was like he didn't have an ounce of fat anywhere in there. It was like looking at a torso's musculature in an anatomy book. Everywhere she looked there were acres of smooth skin wrapped tightly around powerful muscles.

Everywhere she looked… "What the hell is that?" she muttered, staring at a perfect purple handprint on his stomach, just to the right of his bellybutton.

Ranma grabbed the syringes from her outstretched hand and quickly ripped one out of its packaging. "I'm pretty sure it's a move called poisoned Buddha's palm." Grimacing, he pricked at the injured area with the pointed end and slowly pulled back on the stopper.

She flinched. Poison? "What does it do?"

He smirked. "The names of most martial arts techniques tend to be really obtuse or really literal. This one's from column B." The syringe was filled with black blood and discarded. Ranma breathed a little easier and picked up another pack.

She couldn't believe it. Really, she couldn't. "He poisoned you? Dr. Tofu poisoned you?"

"Yeah. I managed to stop it from spreading." He stopped, taking a second to think about what he'd just said. "Well, most of it. I gotta say, it was a really good move. I didn't expect it at all."

He smiled ruefully and shook his head.

His easygoing attitude wasn't what one would expect from a man who had been poisoned. "So… so it wasn't really going to hurt you, right?" Nabiki allowed herself to relax, just a little.

He looked at her and shook his head, immediately stripping her of her comforting illusions, "No. If he had done it to you, you'd probably be dead by now. I'm trained to handle most avenues of attack, but I'm lucky he didn't get me over my heart or my lungs."

Nabiki groaned, barely holding back the urge to thrash the boy for not reacting like he was supposed to. Why the hell was he taking this so lightly? React properly, damn it! "What the hell did you say to him? And how the hell did you stop it from spreading? Oh god, tell me you didn't mention my sister. Please, tell me you didn't mention Kasumi. Or me. Tell me you didn't mention me." This new information was radically changing her view on Kasumi's… on her entire family's relationship with the doctor. His little episodes hadn't been cause for worry, because he had never really hurt anyone before. She hadn't believed him capable of such acts. She _really_ hated being proved wrong.

Ranma discarded his fourth used syringe and sighed in relief. "I didn't mention you."

"And Kasumi?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I mentioned dinner."

She insisted. "Did you say her name?"

He scratched at the back of his head, sheepishly. "Does he have a thing for her or something?"

Nabiki palmed her face and pushed back the rising crest of panic. "Oh no. What are we going to do? Wait, what am I saying? I can't tell them. No one can ever find out that we're behind this."

Ranma shrugged and hopped to his feet, keeping one leg off the ground. "You could always help me pack."

"Pack what?" she asked, as he hopped towards Dr. Tofu's office, bending down to pick up a bag along the way. "And where'd you get that knapsack?"

"I brought it with me. And books, scrolls, stuff like that."

She followed him into the room, noting that at least this room was relatively intact. A chair was overturned close to the wall and a few paper documents were scattered across the floor, but nothing else jumped to the eye. "You're stealing Dr. Tofu's books? What for?"

Ranma hopped over to the desk and picked up his discarded crutches off of the floor before setting the bag down on the desktop and zipping it open. The bookcase was within easy reach, and was quickly pilfered of its most pertinent contents. "Not stealing. Borrowing."

Seeing that the clarification wasn't exactly convincing her, he added, "The pressure points he used to mess up my leg were very specific, and they had to be hit in very precise ways at precise intervals to do what they did. It only activated when I tried to pick up something heavy, and I'm guessing it would have worn off after a while if I hadn't. There's no way he can remember something so obscure from his memory alone, especially if he rarely uses the technique."

That actually made sense. She'd misjudged him. "Is that why you came here?"

Ranma continued to stuff his bag with centuries of arcane knowledge. "What I want is to get rid of this curse. To do that, I need to go back to China. I came here to undo what he did to me, one way or the other. I asked him to fix my leg and he said no. If he wouldn't do that then he wouldn't lend me his books either, meaning I had no choice but to take them. Okay, I probably could have stolen them, but he thoroughly deserved his ass-kicking." After finishing with the obvious source of books, he quickly began to check the desk's drawers, flipping through any documents he could find and picking out whatever caught his eye to stuff it into his bag. "I'll give them back eventually… or maybe I'll burn them or bury them or something. He did poison me. I mean really, this is the guy that's supposed to look after me! Your old man can't choose patsies worth a damn."

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. "And what if he comes after you?"

He stopped what he was doing to stare at her disbelievingly. "What? You really think I can't handle him? Think I should take the opportunity to break his legs?"

She jerked back, disgusted. "No!"

"Good. I was wondering where your limits were." He nodded thoughtfully. "That's good."

That made her pause. He was scoping her out? "Why? Why is that good?"

His face flushed as he began to laugh nervously. "I'm supposed to marry one of you, aren't I? I don't think our fathers will let it go, even after I make it back to China. I figure I should get to know you three better while I'm stuck here, before I make my decision. It might keep the old man off my back if it looks like I'm not totally blowing him off."

"W-what?" Somehow, she hadn't realized that he would still be considering marrying into the family. More importantly, she hadn't realized that he was considering marrying _her_. "But-but you and Akane!"

Ranma shouldered his plunder and picked up his crutches. "That's weird. I don't remember agreeing to anything like that. Don't put words in my mouth, Nabiki." He shook his head and hobbled past her. "Anyway, I'm going to head back and get started on this stuff. You going to stick around and make sure he's okay? I don't think he noticed you come in, so you could always pretend like just you walked in on all of this."

She followed him outside, walking past the doctor's prone form. She thought about it, but couldn't really muster up any sympathy. "No." She didn't have time to stick around, waiting for Tofu to wake up. Ranma had given her plenty of things to think about. Besides, this was a nice neighborhood. He'll be fine.

"Alright. Think Kasumi's done with dinner? I'm kind of hungry."

"Probably." She eyed his bag and wondered, "How are you going to explain that? You can't tell my sisters anything about this."

He shrugged. "I'll think of something."

* * *

As it turned out, the majority of the books Ranma had picked out from doctor Tofu's library were too advanced for him to peruse out of hand. In most cases, the author assumed that the reader possessed prior knowledge on the subject and failed to elaborate on certain terms, which forced him to explore other sources in search of answers, sources that were equally as obtuse and opaque. It was like trying to build a puzzle where every one of the pieces was hidden in separate bins filled to the brim with similar pieces belonging to other puzzles. Ranma figured that his task would get easier once he found out what the picture in the puzzle he was trying to assemble was supposed to look like, but he found himself having some trouble getting started. His eyes skimmed over entire paragraphs without registering a single word, forcing him to double back constantly once he became aware of his own distraction.

It was only now that he was alone, sitting on an old futon in the Tendo's upstairs guest room that he began to feel the pressure, the anxiety that permeated the entire house. It was the silence that finally got to him though, bearing down on his mind and tearing at his resolve as he flipped through a book he had stolen an hour before.

He couldn't focus, couldn't think about the books he was forced to decipher. It was all just a waste of time, a setback on top of a thousand others! With a grunt of disgust, he threw the book across the room and flopped back onto his futon.

Ranma grasped his anger and held it close, hoping to use its heat to warm himself down to the marrow. But maybe he held on too tightly, or maybe its bite was never as strong as its bark, because after a few seconds of rage-induced invulnerability, his wrath faded away into nothing, leaving him with little more than a shattered corpse decaying into wispy fumes of melancholy.

"Damn it," he whispered, staring at the ceiling. "Why'd you have to stand against me, old man?"

It was surprisingly draining… having to fight the one person that has always been on his side.

Before they came here, no matter where they'd traveled, it used to be that Ranma could always count on his father to stand by him. They sparred and argued and insulted one another but none of that mattered because at the end of the day, they walked together. At the end of the day, it was the Saotome clan versus the world.

But not now. No, now he had to go up against his father, his greatest and only companion. Now he had to go up against his father's friend, a fondly remembered training buddy that his old man had apparently never thought to mention, whose daughters he was to choose from because they were apparently betrothed long before they had ever even met. Now, he had to go up against that buddy's _friends_, who were at best marginally involved in any of this! How many people was he going to have to fight? How many outsiders were going to stuff their noses right in his family's affairs? He could handle one master. He could learn to handle two… but he couldn't handle everyone they've ever met!

Ranma growled and mashed his palms against his face, but it didn't relieve any of the frustration he felt. Finally, he fell back onto his training and forced himself to calm down. Anger was the enemy of thought, and it would not help him win this fight. He sat up and rolled forwards, balancing on his head with the greatest of ease. Settling into a more comfortable position, he crossed his arms and legs and began to meditate.

_I can't do this alone._

That fact was becoming increasingly obvious. If his enemies kept multiplying then he needed to gain allies. Even if it hurt to think of his father in such terms, that was exactly what he needed to do. Genma would fight him every step of the way on this, using any method he could stomach. That much was clear.

_So… allies. Hmm… How am I supposed to get someone to stand with me? Wait, before that, where am I supposed to find someone like that in the first place?_

He mulled over that dilemma for a minute, but truth be told, he didn't have much of a choice.

An ally needed two things before it could become useful. It needed to have the ability to influence the battlefield and it needed to care about the fight it was asked to engage in. In other words, his allies would need power, physical or emotional, and motivation. He didn't need to look very far to find people who fit that description; he just needed to find a way to turn three caring daughters against their father.

Genma got Tendo's support by being his friend, and Tendo presumably got Tofu's support through friendship as well. Ranma had always been told to make his enemy's methods his own, so the first step towards making the Tendo girls his allies should be to befriend them. They had to like and/or sympathize with him more than their father.

But, there was a slight problem with that; they were girls and Ranma had never befriended a girl before, let alone three.

_Well, it can't be too different from making friends with guys, can it? And these girls are all initiated in the art; in different ways, yes, but still. How hard can it be? I just have to do what I always do._

Making friends was a simple thing to do. It usually happened in four easy steps: find the strongest guy in the area (who was usually the only person worth befriending), engage the prospect in a competitive activity, win the competition and exchange gifts and/or services to seal the deal. That's how it had worked with Ryoga, when he took the time to lead the boy home after school and that's how it happened with his good buddy Ucchan, when the boy gave him free Okonomiyaki every time he visited. And really, that's what his closest friendships were built on.

Fighting and giving. Always fighting and giving. They fought for everything, from respect to food and everything in between. They fought because it was fun. The flames of combat forged the bond between them and the offerings tempered the steel of the chains that linked them together.

That's how his friendships were formed, and he wouldn't have it any other way. But, a niggling doubt tried wiggle through the walls of his confidence. Could he really apply that pattern to these three?

He thought about it for a second… thought about seriously challenging each of the three girls to a martial arts competition. Akane would accept in a heartbeat, Nabiki would shrug him off, Kasumi would… would… He had no idea how Kasumi would react.

_No... that's not going to work._

He couldn't just fight indiscriminately this time. He was going to have to go on the offensive, to beat them all at their own game. Body, mind and spirit.

During his training, he was taught that against a strong body, he should defend and avoid. Let it exhaust itself. Against a strong mind, he should employ all of his skills to keep it off balance, to confuse and outwit it. Against a strong spirit… he should show no weakness.

Kasumi's greatest strength was her spirit, the battlefield was will and the objective was domination. This one was the most complicated of all. For him to win, he would have to get her to submit. Maybe not entirely, but he would have to impose his will over hers. Not an easy thing to do, especially not in her own house.

Nabiki's greatest strength was her mind, the battlefield was perception and the objective was to uncover the opponent's field while keeping your own unfathomable. Usually, it meant figuring out every aspect of the opponent's martial art, from his range, strength, skill, etc. to his state of mind, his patterns and more, while he tried to do the same, taking care not to be fooled by deception. Nabiki wouldn't fight him, but she was trying to figure him out. He would just have to beat her to it. To win this fight, he would have to learn everything about her before she could learn everything about him.

Akane's greatest strength was her body, and the battlefield was combat, but she wouldn't be able to compete against him in that area. The objective was to defeat the opponent, and he was stronger, faster and more skilled in the art. She wasn't on his level, but to hold back would be an insult.

He tried to think of a way around this, but nothing came to mind, except maybe giving her more gifts to make up for the difference.

Ranma frowned thoughtfully.

_What kind of gift am I supposed to give them, anyway? Flowers and chocolate or something?_

Ranma rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and hummed. Yes, that made sense. He definitely remembered seeing that somewhere… and if he was really desperate, he could always give them jewelry. Girls liked jewelry, especially if they were made out of diamonds and gold. That was an indisputable fact. But diamonds were kind of expensive… and they probably wouldn't like it if he… 'found' them. Well, he got the impression that maybe Nabiki might not care too much but her sisters would definitely object. He couldn't bring one to his side only to alienate the other two. He wanted all three of Soun's daughters.

_Well, I guess that can wait until later._

Ranma released his breath and closed his eyes. "I won't lose, old man. Not like this," he whispered.

With his resolve revitalized, he pushed off the floor into a handstand and hand-walked over to his bag to pick up another book.

He had work to do.

* * *

It felt like every muscle in her body united together to impede her progress towards the second floor guest room, where the young man her father wanted for a son was resting after ripping through the dinner she had prepared. A ten-story tall question mark had branded its message into her mind, twisting her arm until she cried uncle and submitted to its unholy power.

She could have asked her younger sister, but something told her that such an act would reflect badly in her guest's eyes. If she wanted to deal with the young man, she needed to respect him and, most importantly, she needed to have his respect. She had not known him long, but his actions spoke loudly indeed. Ranma Saotome would not respect cowardice. She would have to confront him face to face in order to get anywhere.

Standing in front of the closed door leading to his room filled her with a variety of small insects wiggling their way inside her body; Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and ants tread dutifully down her nerves. She was nervous, but that was understandable. With her father absent, the cursed youth was undoubtedly the strongest person in the house. Even without the use of his leg, she doubted any of them could make him do anything he didn't want to.

She didn't know his character, but regardless of that, she and her sisters were at his mercy.

She breathed in deeply, took hold of herself and knocked on the door. "Ranma, can I come in?"

"Sure. Come on in." His response was prompt and sure, as if he had only been waiting on her to make the first move before he made his invitation.

Kasumi balanced her tea tray on one arm and slid the door pane aside. She took two steps inside the room and stopped suddenly, just as her consciousness finished its analysis of the room's layout. The first thing she noticed was that Ranma was upside-down, balanced on his head with his legs crossed and a book held up before his eyes. The second detail jumped to her attention a split-second later, and all of a sudden she remembered something else about their situation that made her doubt her father's judgment.

Ranma was wearing his sleep clothes. He wasn't wearing clothes specifically designed for sleep like the pajamas her father favored, but rather clothes he intended to wear when he was sleeping; In this case, a pair of boxers and his skin.

Kasumi looked down almost immediately after she realized what she was looking at. She had seen such well-defined muscles before, but only in anatomy books, never in person and never when they were covered by skin. The skin was splattered with fading bruises, but the effect was still striking enough to flush her cheeks with embarrassment.

Seeing so much of his… manly physique reminded her of the fact that there was a virile young man living in close quarters with several beautiful young women, in a house where she was the only adult supervision. Then, if that weren't enough, their father had told them only yesterday that this young man was to eventually marry one of them. Never had she thought that Soun Tendo would allow a situation like this to happen under his roof. It was unthinkable.

_Father, just what are you trying to do here?_

Her father's peculiar behavior was part of why she was so nervous, but the rest of it was just Ranma. He was younger than her, but she knew that she held no authority over him. If he obeyed it was because he wanted to. He was only sixteen, and yet he was already so independent that he would not give it up without a fight.

His blue eyes focused on her the instant she walked into the room. "What's up?"

She gnawed at her bottom lip before speaking, holding onto the tray a little too tightly. "Um, Ranma. Would you like to have some tea with me? There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Sure," he agreed.

With the first hurdle past her legs, she picked up momentum and shed some of her hesitation. She walked a little closer and set the tray down between them, sitting seiza style on the wooden floor as he flipped over and set the book face down behind him. She poured them both a cup, his before her own and was briefly comforted by the familiarity of the movements, actions that she had performed thousands of times over the years.

Ranma picked up his cup and took a swig. "Hey, this is great!"

She smiled. Despite his lack of manners, it was always nice to receive compliments for her cooking. "Thank you, Ranma. Would you like some more?"

"Yeah, of course!" He quickly gulped down the rest of his cup and set it back down on the tray.

As she refilled his cup, she started to ask the question that had filled her mind for the past few hours, but a fit of nerves took hold of her and she wound up asking something completely different. "Ranma, what were you doing just now?"

He drank from his cup, slowly this time, so as to savor the taste. "I was meditating."

She picked up her own cup and emptied a small amount of the liquid into her mouth. "On your head? While you were reading a book?"

_And half naked?_

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that negate the effects?"

He shook his head and took another sip. "Not really. I don't need to find my center."

Her eyes snapped onto him. "That's remarkable! At your age?" In fact, it was more than remarkable. It was practically unbelievable.

He shrugged. "I know, but you didn't come here to talk about that."

His eyes stared fixedly. She quickly looked away. "No… I didn't."

"Well? Don't be nervous. Spit it out."

She bit her bottom lip, and did as he asked. "Ranma, where did Nabiki take you earlier?"

He shook his head. "Don't skirt around the issue either. Say what you really mean."

She closed her eyes and let her suspicions loose. "Did you steal those books from Dr. Tofu?"

"No," he said. "Well, yes. I just didn't do it behind his back. When he wakes up, he'll know it was me."

She sighed and sat her cup down on the tray. So her suspicions were true. "What happened?"

"I confronted him and demanded that he fix my leg. He didn't want to. We fought. I won. I took his books so I could learn to fix my leg on my own. That's pretty much it."

Succinct, wasn't he? She stared at his reflection on the tea's surface and sighed again. "Is… is he alright?"

"Yeah, he'll be fine." Ranma leaned back, pressing a hand against the ground to hold himself up. "Now, what are you going to do about this?"

"Doctor Tofu is a friend of mine," she said. She didn't know why she said it, as it wasn't really relevant, but she said it anyway.

Ranma nodded. "Well, it's your house, your decision. Do what you think is right. If you want me gone, I'll go."

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "No, I couldn't possibly…"

He held up his hand and said, "Look, don't rush into a decision before you know all the facts and don't let guilt push you into anything. I can take care of myself, leg or no leg. If I stay, it might ruin your family's relationship with the doctor."

He sat his cup down on the tray and leaned forwards. "Know this. I won't apologize, I won't make amends and I will not give these books back without a fight. Not before I can fix my leg. At this point, I'm not sure I would trust Tofu to fix it properly, so he's just going to have to wait until I figure out how on my own. If he has a problem with that, then we'll just have to fight.

"You can do whatever you want, but maybe you should stay out of this. It's got nothing to do with you. The doctor can make his own decisions and he's got to live with the consequences. He knew what he was doing, knew I'd come after him. He must have thought he could handle me, because I'm young and injured. He underestimated me, and he paid for that. Don't make the same mistake. Do what you need to do."

Ranma picked up his cup and swallowed the rest of his tea in three full gulps. He sighed in satisfaction, sat the empty cup down and bowed his head. "Thank you for the tea, Kasumi Tendo."

Kasumi matched his bow and accepted his thanks automatically. "You are welcome, Ranma Saotome."

She thought about those words for a second, thought about this young man wandering the streets in the rain on a pair of crutches… but something seemed wrong with that image. Oh yeah… rain… man.

Kasumi then thought about a beautiful redheaded young woman wandering the streets in the rain on a pair of crutches and realized that there was no way she was going to allow that to happen. Somehow, she didn't think Ranma truly understood what he was in for if he was forced to leave this house.

There was no other way. They had not taken his independence, but they had managed to cripple it. She could not blame him for doing what came naturally. "Ranma, you have suffered under our care and we are partly to blame for your misfortune. My father has wronged you, regardless of your father's intensions. Our family will bear its share of the responsibility. You will be welcome here for as long as you will have need of our hospitality."

He watched her carefully, but she didn't flinch. He nodded. "Sorry about this. I'll try not to cause trouble."

She smiled grimly. "I appreciate the sentiment, Ranma, but I have a feeling that might not be so easy." It probably wouldn't be. Not as long as he kept winning.

He chuckled. "Maybe not. Still, thanks. What do you plan to do?"

"I'll talk to Dr. Tofu, see if he won't reconsider," she proposed.

He grimaced. "I don't think he'll be in the mood to listen right now. He's probably angry and he'll only be embarrassed if you go see him now, so uh… you might want to wait a few days. Give him time to cool down."

Kasumi found herself considering his words, and that act raised the realization that her friendship with the doctor had already been tainted. She just… couldn't believe it. That such a sweet man could do such a terrible thing. Every time she visited him, he strove to make her laugh, acting outlandishly and saying silly things. She had never thought him capable of hurting another person. Never.

But he had hurt Ranma, hurt him so badly that he could no longer stand on his own two feet. Not by face-to-face combat, something that her father had taught her to respect, but by subterfuge, by sabotage! It was… jarring. It felt as though someone had pulled the carpet out from under her feet, or maybe it was more like someone had pulled the veil from her eyes, letting her see things as they truly were, that maybe Dr. Tofu wasn't the man she thought he was. It was hard for her to see him as something other than a harmless comedian. He made it so easy to believe that.

The realization was difficult to swallow, its bitter taste urging her to spit it out, to open up to someone and talk about it. Her eyes traced over Ranma's features and her tongue moved of its own accord. "You know, yesterday I would have discarded your advice," she told Ranma.

The young man quirked his head confusedly. "Really? What changed your mind?"

Kasumi's eyes dropped down. "I'm starting to think that maybe I don't know Doctor Tofu as well as I thought I did."

He smiled wryly. "And you think I know better?"

"Father always said... that you never really know someone until you fight them." Her father… now there was another man who'd recently revealed facets of his personality that she'd never imagined. It seemed like the male figures in her life were falling like dominoes. That thought put her in a gloomy mood, but maybe she still needed to grow up a little. To see them both from an adult's eyes, with an adult's expectations. Maybe then she wouldn't be so disappointed in them.

"Really?" he said, crossing his arms. "So what does your old man think about me?"

She smiled for him as she often smiled for her sisters, trying her best to reassure him. "You don't need to worry, it's nothing bad. If there's one thing I've learned over the past few days, it's that my father likes you. He likes you quite a bit."

He mulled that over for a minute and shrugged it off. "I'll take your word for it."

Kasumi picked up her slightly cooled tea and took a long sip. "Will you be going to bed soon?"

"No. I won't be going to school tomorrow either," he informed her.

She nodded. "I understand. Will you need anything?"

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I might need another set of hands. Think Akane will be able to help?"

She winced at the very thought. "I'm afraid that Akane isn't very good at precise movements, despite her other talents. It might be better if I helped you instead. I have some slight training in acupuncture."

Ranma nodded in easy acceptance. "Alright, if you think you can handle it. I'll let you know if I need any help."

"Please do so." She bowed her head and picked up her tray.

_Well, that wasn't so bad, _she thought. She'd just gotten a good look at Ranma (in a completely non-physical manner), and it seemed that he was a reasonable man. She felt a little better about his presence inside her home as she made her way out of the guest room.

"Good night, Ranma."

"Night," he said distractedly, as he leaned over a battered scroll.

She shut the door and left him to his research.

* * *

A niggling feeling scratched persistently at the back wall of her mind, like a mewling kitten softly trying to catch her attention. It felt like she was being watched and it was really beginning to interfere with her concentration. At this rate, she wouldn't be able to finish her homework before bedtime.

Eventually, the sensation got so annoying that she turned around for the sole purpose of proving it wrong.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," he said as he lounged on her bedspread, looking like he'd stolen some of the smug satisfaction entitled to her intuition, like the cat that scarfed down the canary.

Nabiki's eyes flew open with blunted shock, then narrowed into a glare as she spun on her seat to stare him down. "How did you get in here?" she hissed at low volume. The last thing she wanted was to have one of her sisters notice and get the wrong idea.

He shrugged. "I walked in a while ago. You were so absorbed in your homework that I decided to wait until you took a break or something."

Nabiki scoffed and shook her head, unimpressed by his 'thoughtfulness'. "Haven't you heard of knocking? And would you keep it down? I don't want my sisters to know you're in here."

Ranma paid no heed to her complaints as he pulled himself up and leaned onto his crossed legs. He stared into her face, his expression carefully blanked, but for a glimmer of expectation. "Your older sister asked me about where we went before dinner, so I told her about what happened."

"What? Are you crazy?" she complained furiously. "You told her even after I specifically told you not to tell anyone? What kind of idiot are you?"

Ranma's eyes slowly widened throughout her diatribe, and he leaned back as soon as it was over. "Whoa. Remind me never to trust anything you say, ever."

"W-what?" Nabiki found herself at a loss and spent a moment trying and failing to understand why he would say such a thing. "Don't try to change the subject!"

"I'm not," he denied, and pointed at her accusingly. "You're lying to me."

"What are you talking about?" she questioned him, shaking her head.

He gave her a look then, with half lidded eyes and quirked lips, that asked who she was really trying to fool, before he let loose a voice fattened by condescension. "Come on. You're about ten years of hard training away from being able to sneak around me, especially with your father out of the house. I don't need to see you to know you're there."

She crossed her arms, an irritated expression settling on her face. "Will you start making sense?"

"You want me to spell it out? Fine." He shrugged. "You were listening in when Kasumi came to talk to me, so I know that you were faking it just now, but I couldn't tell at all. Not even a little bit..." He grimaced suddenly. "Man, this might be harder than I thought."

Nabiki leaned back into her seat and sighed. "Are you going to keep on speaking gibberish all night or can I go back to my homework?"

Ranma snorted and shifted off of her bed. "Yeah sure. Looks like I need more training before I can win here, anyway. See ya later."

She kept her eyes on him as he picked up his crutch and silently slipped out of her room, going back to her homework as soon as he was gone. Five minutes later, she closed her books and roughly stuffed them back inside her bag, huffing in frustration as she resigned herself to leaving it incomplete.

"Ten years away, huh?" she muttered under her breath as she pierced the door with her glare. "We'll see about that..."

* * *

Yeah, I know. This took forever. I have no excuse. As always, feel free to review with any comment that passed by your head as you read this chapter.


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